


Only Teardrops

by JnjlenSkinjbir



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Edmure's POV, F/M, I tried to be as realistic as I could, Lots of Freys involved, Post - Red Wedding, Red Wedding, Roslin's POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JnjlenSkinjbir/pseuds/JnjlenSkinjbir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roslin and Edmure were at the very heart of the action in the last part of ASOS. But they have been a little forgotten afterwards. Given my love for secondary, almost tertiary, characters, I decided to write on this pairing. This is my version of what happened to them during AFFC/ADWD.</p><p>(Translation of my eponym fic posted in Tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> It's my first fanfic in ASOIAF/GOT universe. English is not my first language, so don't hesitate to tell me if you see any mistake!  
> Disclaimer:I don't own the characters that will appear in this fic (sadly!), GRRM does.

 

**I ROSLIN**

Nothing interesting ever happened at the Twins. The war has started between Starks and Lannisters, and the Young Wolf, according to the rumours, was on the point of passing the Neck, but, at the Twins, nothing interesting happened. The only occasions to amuse were the weddings or the births (and, with a so numerous family, it happened frequently), but Roslin was feeling so ill at ease that she always came reluctantly at those celebrations.

In all her life, she had only known the castle’s humid towers and the lack of concern from her family (she was the sixth daughter of lord Frey who, when she was born, had mumbled « Pfff… Another daughter ! »), so Roslin had always dreamt to leave the castle. And she spent most of her time, sitting on the windowsill, in the room she shared with her half sister Tyta, playing lute and singing (the only activities that gave her some value for her family), her eyes fixed on the Green Fork.

This morning, when she sat at her usual place, she saw a back mass advance on the castle, and she eventually identified it as an army. Probably the Northern army. Intrigued, she put down her lute, and stuck her nose at the window’s glass to better observe the Northerners.

« Roslin ».

Her (full-blood) brother, Olyvar spoke. Without turning around, she answered :

« Have you seen all those knights ? »

« Yes. Rose, Father asked for us to meet him in the great hall. »

« Really ? Why ? »

She was surprised. Usually, old Walder didn’t care about his family.

« The Northerners will be there, to negociate the crossing of our bridge. Father want more likely to show us tat he is not the late Walder, as lord Tully called him. »

This time, Roslin turned around and looked at him, horrified. She knew her father hated this sobriquet, and if he heard one of his numerous descendants talking and joking about it, she didn’t doubt that he or she would be severely punished. After all, that would made a heir less. But it would also make her full brother less for Roslin, and she didn’t want to be separated from him.

She followed his brother, went down the stairs, and arrived in the Great hall, where the Freys met for every occasion. As usual, the old man was sitting on his chair with the carved back. She went left, to the side all the others girls and women.

« Lady Catelyn Stark !», announced the herald.

The heavy doors opened, and the lady walked in. Roslin was detailing her. She had long hair, same coulour as the fire, with some silver hair, eyes as blue as a summer’s sky, and high cheekbones. She was walking with her chin up, proud. Roslin expected no less from a woman who was born from one of the most ancient and poweful family of all the seven kingdoms, and had married a man from another from these families. Admiring, she couldn’t stop detailing their visitor, in spite of her father’s hartred towards the Tullys. Alas, she had to stop soon, for lady Stark had asked for a private with the patriarch, and he had dismissed every one.

 

She went back to her room and resumed playing lute, while Tyta resumed her stitching. Suddenly, Olyvar, who looked radiant, burst in the room.

« How I am supposed to call you, now ? Lady Stark ? Your Grace ? »

« I beg your pardon ? »

Roslin didn’t understand why her brother asked her this question.

« Oh, come on, Rose. If Robb Stark has half the wit a king is supposed to have, he will choose you ! You are from far the prettiest of all ! »

« But Walda and Alyx are much prettier than I am ! », she protested, her cheeks reddening, because she wasn’t used to be complimented, and even less on her physical appearance.

« Their beauty is their only quality. You have several : you are generous, you know how to use your head, play the lute, compose poems. Besides, I am sure that the King in the North will prefer a young wife that have never slept with her cousin .»

« I don’t understand what is going on. What are you talking about ? When did you heard that ?»

Olyvar seemed embarrassed. Roslin understood.

« You’ve been eavesdropping ! Are you really sure you didn’t misheard ? »

« Yes. Father has demanded that the King in the North wed one of his daughters when the war is ended. One of his daughters, ot one of his granddaughters, » insisted Olyvar. « And lady Stark has accepted, so her son will accept too, for they have no other choice to cross the Green Fork. »

Roslin felt so hopeful that she thought her heart would explose. Did the Seven, that she prayed fervently each and every day, heard her wish and decided to make it come true ? Would they allow her to leave the family’s castle ?

She was feeling very euphoric. No matter how rough the North could seem, or its climate or the customs, she would adapt quickly ! She would be an excellent wife and queen, and she would try her best to be as well an excellent daughter-in-law so that lady Stark and her would get very well along. In her head were already dancing a bunch of children, with Tully and Stark features (as Robb inherited Tullys’ features and her, Rosbys’, all she could hope for was that the Frey features wouldn’t appear and affect one of her future children).

Roslin looked at her brother who was not only smiling widely, but had also shining eyes. Why was he so happy ? she wondered, and she immediately asked, because she know it was not only the fact that she would become, if the Gods permit it, the wife of the King in the North.

« Oh, Rose, you will never guess ! I am going to be Robb Stark’s squire, and I will become soon a knight, and it’s more likely him who will knight me ! »

Rose stayed briefly speechless. Then she jump into his arms, and hugged him.

« It’s wonderful ! I am so happy for you ! Your childhood dream will become true ! »

She then loked up to meet his eyes and asked :

« When will you go ? »

She felt him stiffen, and saw a hint of sadness in his eyes.

« I am going now, little sister. »

Roslin felt tears brought to her eyes. Her brother, who was at her sides since her birth (or almost), and who was one of the only two people she trusted, after Perwyn and Fat Walda left, was going to war alonside the Northerners, and risking his life at every instant against those vile Lannisters ! Nobody would ever care for her (except Tyta, for sure, but she was sometimes too much like a septa to Roslin’s liking), and the already boring life in the castle would become even more unbearable without Olyvar and his humor !

But she was too generous to selfishly ask her brother not to go, and her sorrow became happiness. She was so proud of her brother, maybe even more as she was of her other full blood brothers, the two knights Perwyn and Benfrey, and Willamen the maester. So she swallowed her tears and smiled also widely to her brother, before hugging him tighter.

Tyta was looking at them suspiciously, so Olyvar made a move to go, but Roslin accompanied him, and followed him until they were in the yard. After a last hug, her brother, clad in his blue steel plated mails and draped in a grey cloak, rejoined the Northerners and her father’s soldiers, and he made a last sign of the hand for her.

This night, during the supper, Walder Frey claimed his « victory » and swore to his son Elmar that he would marry one of the King’s sister (the lady Arya), and to his daughters that one of them would indeed become the Queen in the North. And Roslin didn’t know if her mind was tricking her, but she had the feeling that her father’s stare lingered over her.

 

Eventually, she came to believe that she was Robb Stark’s future wife, and she did everything she could to become the best wife possible (she knew now how to stitch perfetcly wolves, but she kept those pieces well hidden, afraid that Tyta, if she saw them, would go immediately to Father to tell him about her). And she was thanking the Mother every day for having given her such a future husband.

The news that came several nights after became only more terrible and devastating. The family had just sat for supper when maester Brenett burst into the Great hall, short of breath.

« So, Brenett, you have decided to become an athlete with all your chins and your infinite rolls of fat, eh ? »

« My lord…A raven from your son, Hosteen… It’s…unacceptable ! Dishonorable ! What an insult! How dare they humiliate a family such as yours ! »

« Do not waste your time and mine ! Enough with your dramatic airs ! Tell me what happened ! »

« Robb Stark betrayed you, my lord. »

« What ? », blared the old man, making his fall.

No doubt that he had as well as her heard what the maester just told. _Oh no_  ! thought Roslin, while she felt her blood freeze in her veins, _oh no, everything but this, Father is vindictive, Father willl never forgive him, he will make him pay, King in the North or not_  ! She prayed silently the Mother, so as to soothe the old man’s anger. But Roslin wasn’t at the end of her troubles, and she thought her world had just collapsed and her heart stop beating, while a cold came down the great hall when she heard the maester’s words :

«  Jeyne Westerling, my lord… It’s her ! It’s her who became the Queen in the North ! »

 

 


	2. II Edmure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Second chapter of my story, told from Edmure's POV. The following chapter will be in turn Roslin's POV and Edmure's POV, except for two chapters, where we will have the POV of two others characters.  
> English isn't my first language, so if there is any mistake, tell me!  
> Anyway, enjoy!

**II EDMURE**

He had to be in a previous life a murderer, the same type as Gregor Clegane, to have such bad luck. Otherwise, how could he explain all his recent failures? How to explain the fact that he had thrice missed his father’s funeral boat, whereas his uncle lit it up the first time? How to explain that his « victory » enabled Tywin Lannister’s return in King’s Landing in extremis and save the city from Stannis Baratheon’s troops ? How to explain the arrival of those boasters of Freys during the Riverlord’s funeral, which sound like an insult? How to explain that Robb, Cat’s son, had succeeded in everything he did, whereas he was only failing miserably?

But the worst was probably to fix the only mistake his nephew made. When Edmure heard that he married with Jeyne Westerling, he had begged him to repudiate her, or they would lose the three thousand men Walder Frey provided them. But Robb didn’t care (clearly, he didn’t know what type of man Walder was), and listened to him no more than when his uncle had deeply advised him to not kill Karstark.

Yet his nephew was the King and, regardless his wrongs, he couldn’t criticize him openly, so he had to swallow all his critics. And when he did a thing slightly wrong, everyone was at his back, yelling and scolding him! People could say that Robb was from a far better king than Joffrey, but to Edmure, both were just spoiled rotten brats unable to control themselves that needed a good correction, which would be only benefic for them.

So as he was told he was to marry one of old Walder Frey’s daughters to erase the offence made by the king, he was so angry that he almost burst and slapped the boy, wanting to tell him to accept his responsibilities. No. Actually, he wanted to do worse, and he didn’t care if he was going to be punished for kin (g) slaying.

The only thing that kept him from doing so was the begging look that Catelyn gave him (she was on the verge of tears and, Gods, he couldn’t bore the sight of one of his sisters crying). This, and the stupid promise he made to make amends for Tywin’s return. He managed to keep calm, somehow. But, since he learnt that he, unlike the King, couldn’t choose his bride and had to marry her as soon as possible, he had to dig his fingers on the armchair and press so hard his knuckles became white, so as to not make the crippled and the bastard eat their fucking woolen bonnet.

Edmure was so angry that even Cat and the Blackfish didn’t manage to calm him. Anyway, it began to be more than enough to him, and he swore to himself that, as soon as this damn war was over, he wouldn’t ever talk to his nephew, or have business with him. Eventually, Marq Piper came to see him, holding a wine flask. At least, it would cheer up this horrible day that refused to come to an end.

                                   *                                             *                                             *

The next days he stayed with his men, and he didn’t talk to Cat, not even once, although she tried several times to make peace with him. Family, duty, honor. Ha. Long ago he understood that it only worked in one sense, in the family, and that it benefited only Cat and Father.

The more Edmure wanted to get rid of those thoughts, the more he thought about it. He’d bet that old Walder Frey, deeply offended, would give a bald wife, who looked as much as a weasel as her father, with a mustache, hairs everywhere, bushy eyebrows, mismatched, cross eyes, teeth set like Harrenhal ruins, and she would be so fat that lord Manderly would be angry red. Edmure shivered. _No, stop thinking ‘bout that. You sure you wanna have more nightmares before you live the long-lasting one that was coming_. If he had still a little luck, he would die fast at fighting, and wouldn’t have to endure his marriage much.

Because there was no fucking way he would pass should it be only five minutes with such a damsel, then a whole night…! He preferred dancing with a White Walker, or crawling to Oldtown, or to cross the Sunset Sea, swimming with his legs tied. Unfortunately, this interested neither the Freys nor the Northerners. It even didn’t make them laugh.

As they approached the Twins, he became more and more gloomy and quick-tempered, even to his companions. Nonetheless, when it was the moment to enter the Great hall, he did his best to look delighted, like Lysa who, after having cried enough tears to feed the Red Fork, looked radiant her wedding’s day. ‘Twas better to not vex anymore the old man. Who knew, maybe he would change his mind?

Surprisingly, the bread and the salt he made them ate, showing them they were protected by the guest’s right, were neither stale, nor wet, nor even musty. Actually, they tasted normally, but Edmure felt his stomach making knots and. The feeling only increased as ser Benfrey went to fetch his sister, on order of the patriarch, because, to quote him, the Tully « had endured all the way from Riverrun just for this » (no, he corrected mentally, I had endured the way from Riverrun just to repair my nephew’s fault…and mine secondly). Even though the old man swore that his daughter was the modesty made girl, the married-to-be didn’t know if it was ironic or not. Noticing his paleness and his anxiety, Cat smiled reassuringly at him. He couldn’t smile back at her because he was so anxious.

Meanwhile, to make Robb feel well that he could have had the choice (and, shit, this fucking old decrepit knew how to prolong the wait and the suspense!), Walder presented all of his female descendants to his guests. There was girls from every age and for every taste (even the very peculiar, disgusting ones), but not to his liking. Edmure closed his eyes and an enormous, fat monster with a weasel face and incredibly ugly began to dance in his head.

When he heard the doors open, and the old weasel blared that his dearest daughter, his beloved one came in, Edmure thought he was going to collapse immediately. It’s done, the beast is unleashed. And when his eyes fell on the maiden that accompanied Benfrey, he was about to cry. For joy, or for relief, he didn’t know. Maybe both.

The young women that juts came were very far from what he pictured. First relief: she looked more like his brother than to her weasel of father. The first thing he noticed was her waist, so thin that he could have easily circled it with his two hands. Long, chestnut hair that fell until the small of her back, and framed an adorable face. She had a delicate nose and big brown eyes that. She seemed ill-at-ease. She wasn’t an astonishing beauty, but she was very cute, so that Edmure refrained hardly himself from gaping.

He got back to the real world when the maiden came before him and knelt.

**« Lord Edmure, I hope I am not a disappointment to you. »**

**« You are a delight to me, milady », he answered, smiling widely, sincerely.**

And she was. From where he was, he had a great view on his wife-to-be’s breasts, that weren’t big, but shapely nonetheless. Then he lifted his gaze and noticed that she was blushing, which made her only more desirable. She even smiled, that enabled him to see his lucky teeth.

«  **My lord is kind**  », she said in a small voice.

 **« My lady is beautiful** », he replied immediately and sincerely.

He took her hand to help her stand up (gods, her hands were so thin and so soft!). Then he noticed she was crying.

«  **Why are you crying? »**

Edmure realized that he never thought that she would be disappointed by him, and this saddened him.

«  **For joy. I weep for joy, my lord**. »

He felt a lie. Marrying the Riverlord might seem a cold comfort when she was supposed to be the Queen in the North. Marrying a man with so disastrous archery or strategy skills might sound like a punishment when she was promised to an undefeated young king.

He decided once more to not let those feelings reappear, and tried to seem as happy as he could be. Truth to be told, ‘twas not so hard. In the end, he hadn’t lost much in the deal-Roslin had, to him, more than the little Westerling. One could even forget that she was a Frey.

«  **Enough!**  » barked his soon-father-in-law (yurk!). « **You will have plenty of time to weep after your wedding, eh! Benfrey, lead her to her room, she has to prepare for a wedding. And for the bedding, eh! The best part of the role. For everything!** »

‘Twas only as Benfrey came to his sister that Edmure realized that they were still holding hands, and let her go only reluctantly.

The patriarch then dismissed everyone from the great hall. The crippled showed him his spacious, well aerated, bright chambers. The family had even displayed blue, crimson and silver hangings and soft furnishings (not so musty and that didn’t reek of piss) on the occasion.

He went directly to cat after that. He never managed to hold grudge towards Cat (nor any one-except maybe his nephew and the old weasel), especially when he was in such state of euphoria. Edmure wanted some advice, because he had the unpleasant feeling that there was something fishy, as Walder Frey wasn’t known for his kindness and his generosity.

Standing before the fire, warming his members from the icy cold and the rain, asked his sister:

«  **What have you thought of Roslin?** »

«  **Cute**  », she replied, after a moment.

«  **I don’t think I displeased her. Why was she crying?**  »

«  **Maiden’s tears on the brink of her wedding. It is normal to cry before a wedding. It is somehow stressful to change of castle and life, you know.** »

Lysa had cried, but Cat no. And since the first was getting married to someone that could have been her father, he highly doubted tears were « natural ».

«  **She is far prettier than what I dared to imagine**. »

Actually, she was prettier than he imagined, because Edmure expected the worse, as hope left him. Before Catelyn could answer, he left his hand and continued:

«  **No sermon, septa. I know that other quality matter, like you were about to say. But… did you see some of the…women, she showed us? With the epileptic, the pimpled twins and the one that looked like a white walker, I almost believed we were in a tale to frighten. But Roslin seems as graceful as beautiful**. »

He took a deep breath and told her what he really thought:

«  **I just wanna know, why didn’t the old weasel let me choose, if it wasn’t to give me the most horrible one**? »

«  **Nobody ignores that you like pretty girls », she reminded him. « Maybe, eventually, lord Walder wanted you to find happiness in your marriage** ».

Or, he didn’t want to waste all his plans. If her daughter was the Riverlady instead of the Queen in the North, it was not as prestigious, but he didn’t lose everything with this deal.

Catelyn gave him another reason:

«  **Maybe Roslin is his dearest daughter, as he said. Most of his daughters can’t hope to wed someone of the rank of the lord of Riverrun and Riverlord**. »

Maybe she’s his favorite daughter, but she treated her as a figurehead, an object we show when we need. _He treated you like Father treated you and Lysa, he thought._

 **« ‘Tis true »** , he said.

However, something was wrong with his wedding. Why was he the only to see it? Catelyn might be so relieved that no great harm was done to Robb that she was very pleased with this. Roslin had to have a great flaw, and it was well hidden. But he was determined to find it.

**« Tell me, could she be sterile? »**

He hoped of all his heart it wasn’t the case. Firstly, because he had heard enough times Tom of Sevenstreams and his « floppy fish » song, and he wasn’t keen to hear new couplets. Secondly, because he wanted too to have a little family – actually, he dreamt of having a big family (more like Cat, not like the weasel).

**« Lord Walder wants to see his grandson heir of Riverrun. Why would he give you a sterile wife? »**

**« Err…Because he could get rid of a daughter that nobody wanted to marry? »**

Catelyn rolled her eyes.

**« Oh, stop it, Edmure! »**

She leaned in and took his hands in hers.

**« Walder Frey is late, vindictive, but certainly not stupid, far from that! Besides, Roslin seems to be the prettiest of all, and I was told she plays well the lute. »**

Despite the fact that he hated singers and musicians, Edmure , he and his family, on , the children playing in the water, her wife playing lute, and he, listening and . Or maybe even playing with his sons and his daughters. This brought a smile to his lips.

**« Can it happen? »**

**« Yes »,** she answered, ill-at-ease **. « Sometimes, it happens that childhood diseases prevent woman to conceive. But there is no reason to suppose she had contracted it. »**

Edmure felt reassured, although he was still a

**« Frankly, we have been received by the Freys better than what I imagined. »**

**« Oh, a few barbed words and some unseemly gloating. From him that’s courtesy. I expected the old weasel to piss in our wine and make us praise the vintage. And his bread almost tasted normal. »**

**« If you permit me, I would like to put dry clothes on. »**

**« As you wish, sis ».** He yawned. « I could have a short one-hour-nap. Thanks, Cat ».

He went back to his chambers and jumped on the bed, which was not more comfortable as his bed in Riverrun, but it was comfortable nonetheless.

He fell asleep, smiling. Oh, it was going to be a long night…

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to review! I don't bite, I swear!


	3. III Roslin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.  
> There is the third chapter. I know, Roslin's chapter are much shorter than Edmure's (and it will be so during the rest of this fic).  
> As usual, if there are any mistakes, please tell me!

**III ROSLIN**

Roslin and Tyta’s room was synonym with agitation, like every time before a wedding at the Twins. No, actually, it was worse. Since she was to marry the Riverlord, she had to be impeccable. Consequently, Tyta scrubbed so much her skin when she was bathing (« I won’t hear that lord Tully think you have a rough skin! ») That it was a deep shade of pink, almost red. Now, she was helping her to wear her wedding dress, and began with fixing her corset (although Roslin saw no point in wearing one, as her waist was naturally narrow, causing much woman, including in her family, to be jealous of her. But, since Tyta decided, there was no way to escape it, because you don’t argue with Tyta).

Roslin’s thoughts were occupied with his future husband. She nearly forgot he was at least a dozen years older than her, for he didn’t look his age. He looked a lot like his sister, and could have been easily mistaken for the King in the North’s older brother. He was handsome, even though she haven’t thought before that she would say that when speaking of a bearded man, and very attractive, due to his stature and his high cheekbones. When he helped her to get up, she was lost in his eyes, bluer and more transparent than the Blue Fork. Moreover, according to the rumors, he had a heart of gold. She had too, despite the fact that her father had unsuccessfully tried to erase this quality, finding it unhelpful, good only for the septas.

Otherwise, she had heard that he despised musicians, because of a certain ballad featuring a « floppy fish » (she was more than crimson once Alyx and Walda explained it to her). It was more annoying, because she couldn’t spend a day without playing or singing. But she had the feeling that he would let her play. Maybe she could even make him like music again.

 _Stop deceiving yourself_ , she thought. _Have you learnt nothing from what happened some months ago? Although he will be your husband in a few hours, he will never love you. How can a man love a woman, whose family had meticulously planned the murder of his sister and his nephew, who was also the Northerners’ leader_?

Roslin had been horrified when her father announced her he intended to do and her wedding to Edmure Tully. Deep down in her heart, she knew that Robb’s betrayal wouldn’t stay unpunished, and that the old man would have his revenge somehow, but she didn’t expected a so radical revenge.

Her first reaction had been to shout « But you don’t have the right to! ». Her father looked at her with an icy stare that made her cast her eyes down and answered with a cold voice « I have all the rights in my house, you little fool and it’s not a bloody teenager that will tell me how I must act, eh! ». Then Benfrey, his older brother, who had two adorable children, seemed to her a stranger when he said:

« Why are you trying to defend him, Rose? He may be the King in the North but he sullied our reputation, and especially yours! We must erase this offense, so as to the generations-to-come will not think of house Frey like a passive, drip, energyless, family! »

« But… You are too cruel! »                                                        

Her father seemed then very angry.

« Shut up! I preferred it when you were shier! »

« Father, if you do this, you will cast upon us the Seven’s wrath, and the Northern Gods ’wrath, for you are plotting the king’s murder! »

Roslin didn’t see her father making a gest with his head, and Black Walder’s gauntlet hit her cheek, with so much strength that she fell on the floor. Her cheek was hurting, and it was burning, when she put her hand on it. Moreover, there was blood spilling from the corner of her mouth. She felt tears burning her eyes and she tried her best to not cry:

« I found you are making a lot of fuss » commented the patriarch. « You are lucky to marry Riverrun’s lord, which is not permitted to everyone an even less to you and your sisters, and you’re still finding a way to fuss over details, eh? If you are not happy, all you have to do is say so, and I will make him marry Tyta. But I thought that giving him a daughter that is still a maid, beautiful, talented with music and keen to give him at last an heir would, eh. And, at least, it twill be a consolation for Tully, eh: there is no point in killing him since he is as harmful as a trout, and it will cheer up his life after your wedding. Maybe you will have a son, in which case he will become definitely and fully inoffensive.

Roslin wasn’t that and understood that her only role would be to produce an heir for Riverrun, to ensure the future domination of the Frey on the Riverlands. He made a move to dismiss her and she got up, the hand still on her cheek, ready to leave the room when he added:

« Surprisingly, only the children of your dumb mother tried to argue. I am tired to notice that her had only Benfrey, eh, for I am sure that Willamen would have made a fuss. I had to jail up Olyvar because he was and half crazy, and to send Perwyn with one of your cousins at Fairmarket, eh. Know that if you would come up with the as absurd as desperate idea to warn him, in any way possible, or his family and his bannermen, eh, I will send them to rejoin your dumb mother. Have you understood, eh? »

«Yes, father. »

 

« Roslin, stop crying! You are sobbing so much that I can’t tie this corset », Tyta scolded her kindly, bringing her back to the reality.

Roslin didn’t even realize that she was crying. She sniffed, and then she wiped her eyes and tried to calm down.

« Frankly, you are going too far» added Fair Walda. « You are gonna be the lady of the Riverlands; so why do you care about the way you are going to reach this position? »

« She is right, especially since you always dreamt to leave the Twins. »

It was Alyx who just spoke, sitting on.

« And don’t you dare telling me something else; it’s what we all dream of! »

« Father found very suitable husbands to Fat Walda and you. I even bet that you are his preferred. » said Tyta.

« Don’t say that », answered Roslin, putting her hand on top of Tyta’s. « I am sure that someday, a good lord will come to ask your hand. »

A thought briefly crossed Roslin’s mind. _I am not Father’s favorite daughter. I even doubt he has a favorite child, or had one. Fat Walda and I are just valuable because we are a way to give the access to the power and the recognition he always craved for. If I die while giving birth, I twill only suit his plans. If I die, there still are a lot of girls of our family to replace me._

« In the meantime, if she continues like that, she will soon concurrence the Maid of Tarth », Fair Walda snickered, thanks to her sharp tongue.

No need to read in her spirit to assume that she was deeply jealous of Roslin and would have willingly killed all her wedding guest if it enabled her to become the lady of the Riverlands, and she was venting her anger on the others.

Roslin seemed to be the only one that cared a lot about the consequences of her wedding. She seemed to be the only one pious enough to know that breaking the guest’s rights would only cause the Gods’ wrath, but the Freys paid no heed. And all the Northern bannermen wouldn’t be present: in those unstable times, what will they do if the Baratheon (or Lannister or whatsoever) King fell from power? The Lannisters wouldn’t hold power anymore, so the northerners will probably take their revenge.

She remained silent while her sister was doing her hair, and her great-nieces were putting some make up on her face. Then they perfumed her -- perfume was an incredible lux that the young women put only on great occasions, mostly on old Walder’s weddings. This one had a very pleasant fragrance-- and she felt Tyta putting some earrings and a necklace (usually, Roslin didn’t wear any jewelry, except her mother’s signet ring, for she didn’t have many and she didn’t wanted to seem vain).

When it was over, they allowed her to stand, and they brought a mirror before her, before preparing themselves. Roslin gave her reflection only a quick glance, but it was enough to see a beautiful young woman, instead of a cute child. Surprisingly, Walda and Alyx had done a great job and didn’t try to sabotage her wedding by making her look like a whore. The powder and the poppy’s paste were well applied, and the little khol they put on her eyes emphasized them, without making them looking protruding.

The jewelry was perfect: a silver chain, with an amber pendent, and ochre topaz earrings. They both matched her dress, which was as well beautiful. She never had the occasion to wear such a fine one. It was indigo with silver intricate embroidery--a compromise between the Freys and the Tullys colors. Roslin spun around and admired the way the fabric moved around her. She found this dress perfect and the others girls too, since they told her that it emphasized her natural grace and she couldn’t help but smile.

« If Tully doesn’t find you beautiful, either he is blind, or he only likes men! » exclaimed Walda, as she was putting on her finest jewels.

« Don’t cry, no matter what, during the ceremony, even if it’s for joy. We didn’t spent hours on you make up for nothing. If you make it drop, I’ll skin you! » mumbled Alyx, while Tyta was helping her with her dress.

«And tomorrow, you will have to tell us how your night, without forgetting a single detail! » insisted Walda.

When Benfrey arrived in the room with the Frey’s cloak, he told she was beautiful, smiling. He put the cloak around her shoulders, and led her to the great hall. Roslin noticed he was wearing his armor under his clothes and it took her great effort to not cry.

Her father waited for them, holding on his cane. After complaining about they being late, he admitted there was « no chance for the fish to remain floppy! », causing her to blush.

The heavy oak doors opened, and Roslin took a deep breath. _Don’t cry. No matter what happens, don’t cry_ , she reminded herself. And when she stepped in the hall, it was with the unpleasant and no less true feeling that the fate of thousand knights had just been sealed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, the wedding itself!


	4. IV Edmure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for chapter 4! The description of the Red Wedding is the one Catelyn gives in ASOS, so I didn't change many things (including the dialogues, in bold.). Except the food. Frankly, the food that was described in the book didn't seem delicious at all, so I changed it a little bit.  
> Thank you for your review, Joan_Of_Arc, but I'm afraid I didn't choose this plot...

**IV EDMURE**

Edmure didn’t remember the last time he had been so nervous. He was sleepy and he wanted to rest, but at the instant he closed his eyes, Cat came. She woke him, and helped him to prepare. She even added that, according to maester Brenett (with whom she had talked with), Roslin was perfectly sound. Which made Edmure even more perplex. He had replayed in his mind several times the conversation they had had with Walder Frey, but he couldn’t find something that wasn’t normal.

For the ceremony, he had to wear an elegant red and blue doublet, whose buttons were silver, with a matching cloak. It was more comfortable than what he imagined (he wore usually a shirt and breeches, but, since his meeting with Roslin, everything seemed, curiously, more pleasant), but it was too hot. And he felt a little ill-at-ease. He was really afraid to screw something up. It wasn’t likely to happen, as he had assisted to several weddings, and one among them was a Northern one (for cat’s wedding, there had been a double ceremony, one in the sept, the other in the Godswood), and as fortune seemed to smile again. However, he promised himself to be and to take the time to think before acting or speaking.

So he was waiting for Roslin in a packed sept (which was to expect when the whole family didn’t want to miss their wedding) and the more he waited, the more he felt butterflies dancing in his stomach. A horrible thought crossed his mind: what if, actually, the weasel never intended to bring his daughter, refusing this wedding, the same way Robb had refused?

Fortunately, this wasn’t the case, as the sept’s doors opened, the old man. He was walking, (something Edmure would have never thought possible) taking support half on his cane and half on his daughter. Roslin was walking with her head bowed.

And what if, even worse, old Walder intended to marry him with another person who was in the sept, so as to humiliate him? But it hadn’t much sense: the old man seemed rather to be the type who revenge directly on the offender than the one who was satisfied with a scapegoat. Nonetheless, Edmure looked quickly at all the assembly: nobody was moving, not even the septon who, truth to be told, seemed so high that the groom wondered if he would be able to perform the ceremony.

After what seemed an endless moment, the weasel let his daughter go and hobbled along at his wife’s right. Edmure looked again at the one that would soon become his. If it was possible, she was even more beautiful than earlier. Her long, silky hair had been done skillfully and elegantly, as the make up on her eyes her cheeks and her lips. The narrowness of her waist was emphasized by the blue dress she wore, as the few jewels that shone at her ears and at her neck emphasized her. A pleasant fragrance could be smelled in her trail, a fragrance that intoxicated Edmure, even though it wasn’t heady. The child he met at the beginning of the afternoon became a beautiful, young woman. A rose amidst the Frey dung.

He gave her a sincere and glowing smile that she answered shyly, while her cheeks blushed again. This delicious red became even more crimson when he mumbled, as he was slightly bent over her to take off her maiden’s cloak, that he was lucky, and that he thanked the Seven to make her his wife. Then he slid it over her shoulders and folded it quickly. The septon took it, and Edmure put his cloak with his House’s colors around Roslin’s shoulders, which filled him with pride. He reached out his arm, and she laid her small hand on it. The septon tied the ribbon around their hands before allowing them to say their vows.

Edmure’s blue eyes searched Roslin’s brown ones, and they both said their vows, without breaking eye contact, their voices becoming one, which resounded in all the sept:

« Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. »

« I am hers and she is mine, from this day til the end of my days. »

« I am his and he is mine, from this day til the end of my days. »

« With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife. »

« With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband. »

He bent down and their lips touched. Although it didn’t last, he found her lips very soft, and even that it hadn’t last any longer. After all, he said to himself, it would be for another time. They would have plenty of time to kiss later this evening, and even more.

Then the septon rose up a seven-faced crystal above their head. The light of the weak sunset passed through it, and a rainbow fell on them.

“Here in the sight of gods and men…I do solemnly proclaim Edmure of House Tully and Roslin of House Frey to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”

Edmure agreed perfectly with him (‘twas probably the first time I his life he agreed with a septon). The first one who would try to weaken their wedding would likely never have another chance to do it again, for the only sight of what would remain of his body would be enough to dissuade the others. He had enough luck to have the prettiest of all, so he wasn’t letting her go!

Then everyone went to the Great Hall, where there were a lot of tables for the ceremony. Being the groom, he sat on their host and his father-in-law’s table, at the end of the table, Roslin sitting between them. After everyone sat, the meals began to surge in the hall, as the alcohol, whose flow competed with the Green Fork’s. For sure, the weasel didn’t do things by halves, but Edmure wasn’t so sure of the choice of the musicians. ‘Twas true that he didn’t like music, even though he didn’t have such a bad voice; however, there was no need to be an excellent musician to see the difference between those noises and music. His father-in-law hat to be deaf to appreciate such drumbeats, accordion’s wails and other noises so abominable coming from other instruments that Edmure wouldn’t have been surprised if someone told that the dead Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn and Ned Stark had come and demanded more calm.

Apparently, Cat agreed with him, because she looked tense, due to the headache she had. That being said, she could look as well tense due to the delicate fragrance that exhaled the other men who were sitting at her table. Even Roslin looked bothered, although she hadn’t spoken. When she noticed he was watching her, she sketched a forced smile and asked, showing the meals:

« Aren’t you hungry, my lord? »

« Please, call me Edmure. »

« Are you hungry, Edmure? »

« What do you recommend me? »

« The roasted goatling with honey and pepper is what our cook prepares the best. »

« Let’s try the goatling, then! », he said, serving himself, adding fried onions.

However, he regretted his choice, because it was very difficult to eat properly the meat. As he lifted his gaze, searching someone who was eating the same thing as him to copy the way he did, Roslin was almost laughing:

«You can’t eat the meat that way! »

« I think I have figured that out. How shall I do, then? » he asked, putting down his flatware.

Edmure was surprised when he saw her take a morsel of goatling between her fingers (it was probably the first time he saw a lady using her fingers to eat, although she did that very elegantly), and even more surprised as she lifted it to his mouth. Nobody had fed him like this since he was three, and he felt a little treated as a child. Nonetheless, he opened his mouth, reminding himself to not bite her.

Now, he knew that old people (including his new father-in-law) didn’t lose their taste as they grew old. The goatling was from far one of the best meals he had ever eaten. A meat more tender could not be found, and the sauce was delicious, sweet and spicy and salty, and it wasn’t taking away the meat taste.

He reached his hand to take more meat and he saw that Roslin had made the same movement. In turn, he took a morsel and brought it to his wife’s mouth. Again, she blushed as she ate what he gave her. Her lips had touched briefly his fingers, and it reminded him of the kiss they have exchanged earlier.

« Thank you, my lord. »

« You’re welcome, Roslin. »

He had insisted on her name, to remind her to call him by his name (which was so much more pleasant than to be called « my lord »! Nearly everybody called him so. Besides, he liked the way she said his name, for he felt like having an exceptional one, whereas it was an old one). Once again, there was silence between them, as they ate. Edmure looked at her wife over his wine’s cup, smiling. Roslin asked, her cheeks still red:

« Could you recommend me a good drink, my l…? Edmure? »

« Of course! You should try this sweet Arbor mead. I’m pretty sure you will like it », he replied, pouring her a cup, still smiling.

« Thank you. »

She smiled and he observed her take a sip. Then she really drank it, like a lady. And, to his relief, she seemed to enjoy the drink. As she put down the cup, she said, smiling:

« I must recognize that you managed to change my prejudices concerning alcohol. This one wasn’t strong, or bitter. It was very good. »

« I am honored», he grinned as he drank in turn the cup, his mouth at the place her lips had been.

Edmure fought briefly the urge to kiss her, then he thought it was his wedding, after all, and he could do as it pleased him. So he bent over her once more, and he kissed her, a little longer than during the ceremony. Their kiss couldn’t have been described as anything but chaste, however she seemed very embarrassed.

 _You too, you changed my prejudices concerning Arbor’s alcohol_. Usually, he considered it like a drink for women, because it wasn’t strong enough to his liking, but on Roslin’s lips, it was from far the best he ever tasted.

When they finished eating, the band began to play something that seemed vaguely to be a dance. Edmure asked Roslin to dance, and, to his great delight, she accepted. He led her on the dancefloor, before placing his hand in the small of her back (Gods, her waist so narrow!), and she put a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

They began to dance. It was pleasant, if they forgot about the music which was played. He had never found so great pleasure in dancing, even though he was quite a good dancer.

« Who is she? » he asked, making a move towards a quite beautiful Frey, who was dancing with his nephew.

« It’s Walda. Fair Walda. She’s my great-niece. »

Edmure found it very strange, for they looked the same age. But, since they were great age differences between Walder’s children, he supposed it was normal in the family.

« You should be called fair, too. »

« Oh, no, my lord! » she replied, giggling (what a beautiful laugh!). « She’s far more beautiful than I am, and so is Alyx (she showed him who it was). Everybody says so. »

« So everybody must be blind. Of all the women present, you are certainly the most beautiful, tonight. Except Cat, maybe. »

« Thank you, my lord», Roslin stammered, who seemed more and more embarrassed. « You… you are, you too… err, you…you look like a… I find you very handsome », she finished, spontaneously.

Her cheeks became even redder after, as he smiled widely. He felt really honored, and really liked the color Roslin’s cheeks took, especially when it was because he had told her something or he done something for her. And he was even more satisfied as he noticed that, the more they danced, the more Roslin relaxed.

The music has stopped, and Robb walked towards them. Edmure repressed a groan. _What does he want, again?_

« Congratulations, my uncle, my aunt! May you have a happy future as soon as we win this war. »

Ha. There was still a long way before that. The Karstarks have gone back to Karhold as soon as Rickard was beheaded, and the royal family had the Lannisters and the Tyrells at her sides. They needed more than a few thousands men to win this damn war, and to have indeed a future. Something like dragons, for instance. At his sides, Roslin, whom he still held the hand, stiffened immediately.

« My aunt, would you dance with me? »

She turned towards Edmure, searching his approbation. Even though, he didn’t agree, he mumbled her to go, and he went to dance with another Frey not so ugly, but still having an eye on them. Yes, it was somehow pathetic to be jealous of his nephew, but he didn’t care about that.

Desserts arrived a short time after: custard tart, honey cakes, slices of gingerbread, shortbread biscuits, jam crisps…But everyone was too drunk or too queasy to show any interest in it.

Finally, Walder Frey clapped his hands. Apparently, the « musicians » didn’t want to stop playing, and the old man’s call wouldn’t have been heard if the others guests didn’t bang their cups on the table, led by Aenys and Hosteen. Eventually, the musicians understood that it was useless to play, since it wouldn’t cover the jumble.

 **«** **Your Grace,”** Lord Walder called out to Robb, **"the septon has prayed his prayers, some words have been said, and Lord Edmure's wrapped my sweetling in a fish cloak, but they are not yet man and wife. A sword needs a sheath, heh, and a wedding needs a bedding. What does my sire say? Is it meet that we should bed them? »**

Great. So now, it was up to his nephew to decide if they were going to be bed. If the custom of the first night still existed, Robb would have probably taken advantage of it.

But the male Freys seemed too delighted to bed them, shouting « To bed! To bed! To bed with them! », as they banged their cups again.

Edmure quickly glanced at Roslin, and noticed that she was white. Was she afraid of the bedding? Probably not, because she wasn’t likely a stranger to the custom, since she had a very numerous family. Could she be afraid of _him_? Did he repulse her? He sincerely hoped it wasn’t the case. He did his best to not shy and to act properly, and didn’t see why she would think that. Unless she was disappointed to spend the night with him, and not with Robb… He shook his head, to get rid of those thoughts, and he promised himself to not rush her.

Robb raised his hand:

**« If you think the time is meet, Lord Walder, by all means let us bed them. »**

The roar of approval that greeted his pronouncement shook the room’s walls, while the band took their instruments again, and began to play « The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown » (it was the only music they seemed to play correctly). Jinglebell hopped from foot to foot in rhythm, his bells ringing.

 **"I hear Tully men have trout between their legs instead of cocks,"** Alyx Frey called out boldly. **"Does it take a worm to make them rise?"**

To which Ser Marq Piper threw back, **"I hear that Frey women have two gates in place of one!"**

 **"Aye, but both are closed and barred to little things like you!"** said Alyx.

 **« Let’s propose a toast to our Riverlord’s one-eyed-fish! »,** shouted ser Patrek Mallister, who had climbed on a table, while all the guests were laughing. **« And a mighty pike it is! »**

 **« Nay, I’ll wager it’s a minnow! »** Fat Walda Bolton shouted out, from Catelyn’s left.            

Once more, the Freys as the other guests shouted « To bed! To bed! ». The most drunks swarmed the dais, surrounded Roslin, and lifted her in the air, while Edmure saw a flow of Freys mothers and daughters, giggling and seeming very happy. At least, it will change them from the family marriages, he thought as they began tugging his clothes. We can’t say that Frey men are handsome… He was laughing, and throwing back to them every bawdy joke (there weren’t many people who could defeat him in a fight of this type!)

In spite of the uproar, Edmure heard the Greatjon bellow **« Give this little bride to me! »,** saw him all the other men that surrounded Roslin and throw her over one shoulder then bawled **« Look at this little thing! No meat on her at all! ».**

Roslin was more pale than ever (her cheeks has no more colors at all!), and she was so stiff with terror that she paid no mind to the jeers, and she clutched the Greatjon as if he might drop her. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. This sight saddened Edmure, who didn’t want his wedding to begin with tears.

When they exited the Great Hall, he regretted that he couldn’t have tasted the red wine promised by Walder Frey…

 

 

 

 


	5. V Roslin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding night of Edmure and Roslin. Or at least, the beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> This chapter is the main reason why this work is rated "M". If you aren't comfortable with it, don't read it and wait 'til the next chapter!  
> As usual, if there is a mistake, don't hesitate to say it!

**V ROSLIN**

When the room’s door closed, leaving them alone, Roslin felt her heart pounding. She was both excited (which maiden wouldn’t be it during her wedding night?) and panicked (due to what would happen). This last thought weighed a lot on her heart. She felt like she was going to collapse.

Then she felt lord Edmure (no, she corrected herself mentally, my husband)’s gaze linger over her, and she kept her eyes cast down (anyway, as the night went on, she found it more and more difficult to look in his), while crossing her arms in front of her chest (thank the Gods, the men had the decency to not strip her of her smallclothes).

He got close to her and at this moment, stress, panic and guilt burst in Roslin, who burst into tears uncontrollably. Her body was shaking like a leaf. Tears rolled down on her cheeks more quickly than a stone thrown from the top of the western Tower. And she didn’t care at all if she ruined all Walda’s and Alyx’s efforts.

He wiped her tears with his thumbs, and put his hands on her cheeks.

« Roslin », he called.

She tried to turn away her face, but her husband’s hands prevented her to do so.

« Roslin, please, look at me. »

This time, she could clearly hear the hurt in his voice, and Roslin was so moved that she opened her eyes, and looked at her spouse, sniffing. His blue eyes had darkened, enabling her to see the deep his ill-being that could be heard in his voice.

« Roslin, I… I am sorry. I am well aware of your apprehension, and even of the fact that you are anxious and probably don’t want to lay with me, which I totally understand, since you could have married someone whose rank and qualities far exceed mine, but he have to do this.  At least for this night. They won’t leave us alone otherwise. They will talk, and invade our intimacy. Look, I promise you, I will go slowly. »

Roslin was really moved by his tenderness and his concern, but she wanted to scream. _My poor husband, I am not afraid of our wedding night, I am feeling guilty because my family is going to kill your uncle, you sister, your nephew, and slay every bannerman she will come across, while you, you will stay here, with me, having good time, without knowing what is happening in the castle. Every second, every minute, every day you will spend with me will remind you of how many kin you lost on our wedding night, because of me, because of you, we who had no way to . And if they don’t kill you too, there won’t be the slightest chance for you to love me, and you will despise me for the rest of your life._

She wanted to tell him everything, oh, she was dying to, but she remembered Olyvar, who was jailed, and Perwyn, who was watched by one of their cousins. Just a word coming from her could kill them both, and probably her husband too. _No_ , Roslin said to herself. _I couldn’t prevent the coming slaughter, but there is still something I can do. I can keep them three alive, and I swear to the Old Gods and the New that I will do it as long as I can._

So she took a deep breath, wept her tears with the back of her hand, and smiled very shyly.

« Please forgive me, my lord. I have been acting childishly, and I must apologize for this behavior. »

He soaked a piece of cloth in a small water basin.

« Edmure. Call me Edmure, please”, he said, as he was gently taking off what remained of her make up. “And your apologizes are accepted. ‘Tis normal to be a little worried on your wedding night. »

« Thank you, Edmure». 

When she said his name, it gave her a strange feeling. _Perhaps it’s because this night is the last time you will have a chance to pronounce it,_ a little voice said in her head. _You will see, as soon as he will learn about the whole thing, he won’t call you Roslin anymore, and won’t talk to you, if he will still do it, using his sweet tone and being kind._

Edmure’s lips settled on hers, tearing her from her thoughts. But this kiss wasn’t like the ones they exchanged during the ceremony or during the feast. No, it was far from being chaste, because it was a passionate, a hungrier one. A kiss that made Roslin want to have another, but she didn’t know how to answer it, and even less what to do with her hands. Her husband seemed on the contrary to know a lot of things about that. His hands rested at first on her cheeks, then one settled on the small of her back, and the other on the neck, tangled in her long hair, pulling her a little more against him.

They parted for air. Roslin shyly raised her hands to touch Edmure’s cheekbones, looking him in the eyes (he looked at her with shiny eyes, and with something that seemed like… adoration?). Then, she returned his kiss (keep him busy, keep him happy, and no harm will be done to him, or to Perwyn and Olyvar), in a slightly clumsy and hesitant way. However he didn’t  blame her for it (she felt smile against her lips), and deepened the kiss, while he was pulling her even closer, so that she could feel his muscular body as well as his manhood (she became as red as her husband’s hair when she realized it).

Edmure teased her on her cheeks’ color, before kissing her again. _Father was right_ , she thought. _The fish didn’t stay floppy for a long time_. And she began to think once more about what was happening downstairs. For the moment, no noise could be heard. Had the slaughter already begun?

She let a scream out, which was smothered by their kiss, when he carried her, to lay her down carefully on the bed, as if she was made of glass. She was glad for this gesture, for she didn’t think she could have walked by herself: due to the anguish and their previous kisses, her knees were so weak that they couldn’t have supported her weight.

Resting on his elbows, that were Roslin’s head, he removed the strands of hair that barred her face. While he was kissing her, Roslin couldn’t help herself to feel guilty to feel all those things that she had never felt before. Guilty to feel so good. Guilty to have for the first (and probably the last) such attention coming from a man, for whom she seemed to be the only one that existed in Westeros, and who whispered her name like a prayer every time he kissed her cheeks, her lips, her neck. Guilty to like it and to answer it, whereas she couldn’t feel like this, she didn’t have the right to, she couldn’t act like there was nothing bad happening, because it would only make her more accomplice of the upcoming slaughter.

Roslin couldn’t betray him like this. What did he do to deserve that ? Nothing, except being the King in the North’s uncle and the Riverlord. But she hadn’t the choice. Or maybe she had, but she was too afraid of what could happen after to choose the other option. Old Walder would have neither trouble nor scruples to kill her and/or replace her by another.

A moan involuntarily escaped her lips as Edmure’s fingers found her breasts and began to stroke them slowly. Her breath quickened and became heavier as he teased her nipples, rolling them between his fingers, while he was kissing her neck, her collarbone and her chest.

Roslin almost squealed, because of both surprise and pleasure, and gripped tightly the bed sheets when his mouth replaced his fingers on her right breast, his fingers still working on the other. Her mind half numb, she wondered what he thought of her chest. Was he finding it too small? If it was the case, it didn’t seem to bother him. Far from that. She had felt him smile against her skin, seemingly satisfied of her moans which became more and more frequent and louder, before tearing another one when he lightly bit her nipple.

When Edmure’s lips left her skin, she groaned in frustration, and it became a long sigh as they began to take care of her other breast. Roslin had never felt so guilty and so ashamed, especially because she would have sworn to hear noises coming from the Great Hall. How could he be so gentle and so kind with her, to do everything he could to make her feel at ease, while she, in return, would only hurt him ?

After a long moment, he left her chest (which made her groan) to kiss her belly, lower and lower. When he arrived at the hem of her smallclothes, Edmure left his gaze and looked her in the eyes, asking for her approval. Even though she felt embarrassed, because nobody ever saw between her legs, she didn’t want him to stop. And mayhaps, if she let him do it, he wouldn’t hear the sounds coming from the Great Hall. So she smiled to him, expressing her consent.

And she didn’t regret her decision. After removing her last piece of cloth, he kissed her hips bones, and stroked her arse, then her upper legs, while he was kissing softly her inner thighs. When her husband’s mouth landed between her legs and his tongue began to explore greedily this place, she didn’t moan, but she almost screamed, gripping the sheets even tighter.

Once and for all, she forgot totally what was happening in the castle, and in the rest of the world. Nothing mattered now, except him, her husband, except them, together in this room.

« Ah…Edmure »

She moaned eventually his name, which made him smile against her skin. He rewarded her with another lick, more powerful. Her back arched, pushing her hips towards him, her hands stopped gripping the sheets to tangle in his hair, she threw back her head and she moaned his name, once more. Oh, she felt so good ! Never had she thought that she could feel those things, and he surely was talented to make her discover it!

As she lifted her head, Roslin’s gaze met her husband’s. She didn’t know if it was because of the lack of light, but his eyes, which were as clear as the summer’s sky, looked now more like the Green Fork at nightfall, and mirrored satisfaction, passion and desire.

All that Roslin remembered after, it was that she had seen stars in front of her eyes, and a glimpse of the seven heavens. She had the vague impression that she had been heard until Greywater Watch.

When she recovered her senses, her breath still shaky, she noticed that Edmure was removing the strands of hair which stuck to her face with sweat, a satisfied smile on his lips. She took advantage to stare at his body, and she couldn’t look away. Oh, he was so muscular! Admittedly, Olyvar and Perwyn were too, but none had shoulders so broad, nor pectoral so chiseled, or those abdominals.

Roslin looked down and became red again as she saw that the fish wasn’t floppy anymore. Not at all. He followed her look and laughed out loud, while she averted her gaze, embarrassed, even though a voice in her heard whispered that, since he saw her naked without being embarassed, there was no shame in watching him.

« If you want, we can stop here tonight, » he suggested kindly.

« No! » she answered, maybe a little too promptly.

She didn’t know if it was because she didn’t want him to stop or if she didn’t want him to hear what was happening and go to help his family and his bannermen, but she regretted it, and averted her gaze again, her cheeks reddening. _Why didn’t I watch my tongue? He’s going to think of me like a wanton!_

Edmure laughed again. Great. Now, he was making fun of her! At least, it was what she believed until he bent over her and whispered:

« Are you sure? »

Roslin nodded and he kissed her. This time, his mouth had a different taste, something sweet and salty, and it was more likely _her_ own taste. His hand went down where his mouth had been moments earlier, slowly stroking her, and she moaned once more.

When Edmure entered her, he exhaled deeply with a groan. Even though he was proceeding slowly, Roslin clearly felt the pain, and tears rolled down on her cheeks. He hastened to wipe them off while whispering her soothing words, without stopping thrusting, and the pain faded little by little, to be replaced by pleasure.

Each one clung on to the other as if their lives depended on it, he to her hips, so hard that she would probably have bruises on the morrow, and her to his back and his shoulders. Her body was undulating under Edmure’s and each time their hips met, they exchanged a moan. Roslin’s became louder than his when he decided to suck then to bite the place her neck and her shoulder met, before doing the same to her neck and her collarbone, while his fingers teased her chest. To which she responded by returning the favor, to smother some of her moans and by digging her nails on his back.

They came at the same time, and Roslin felt totally ecstatic again.

Now both of them tried to catch their breath, Edmure’s head resting on her chest. Roslin noticed that his face had the same color as his hair, which were very tousled. His eyes met hers, and they both smiled. Then she began to stroke lightly his hair.

« I would like to stay like this forever », Edmure confessed in a low voice, against her skin, his breath giving her goosebumps.

I would like it too, but it’s not possible, she thought, preventing herself to cry again. Nonetheless she prayed for them to stay like this at least until the sun would rise again.

It was at this very moment that shouts and screams could be heard from the other side of the doors.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How it was?  
> This is the first time I write such a scene, so tell me what I could improve/change/etc. (there is no other sex scene in this fic, but your critics might be useful for another fic).


	6. VI Edmure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, this one is definitely not a happy chapter, and so will the following.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!  
> I was very busy those two weeks. First there was the inscriptions in college, and then, I began to work on another project (you know about what I'm talking about Joan_Of_Arc... The prologue is ready).

**VI EDMURE**

As soon as Edmure heard the shout, he straightened up, his blood freezing in his veins. He recognized some of the voices that were heard from the other side of the doors and belonged to Marq Piper and the Greatjon. He also heard the sound that made swords when men fight. And there were too many, so that it couldn’t be just a small drunk brawl, like there was at every wedding.

Roslin straightened up too. All color had drained from her face in a few seconds, and she was slowly moving back.

« Roslin, do you know what’s going on? » he asked.

She opened her mouth, but no sound escaped her lips.

« Roslin? »

« No! I swear to you, it’s not me, it wasn’t me who came up with the idea! I have nothing to do with it! » she said quickly;

Her very panicked voice only made Edmure more suspicious.

« It’s not you that had done what? »

She began to shiver, as tears were rolling down her cheeks once more.

« It is your bannermen, my lord… »

« What have they done? »

Did they hurt her during the bedding?

« And…and there is also…your nephew…your sister, your uncle… »

« Speak, for the Gods’ sake! », he demanded her, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her, panic flooding his mind.

Covering her face with her hands, Roslin stuttered with a sob:

« They are being killed! »

Edmure felt like time had stopped. For a moment he was so shocked that he didn’t move. He even wondered if it wasn’t a joke. But, given his wife’s state, it wasn’t one. Suddenly, fury seized him and his hand closed around Roslin’s throat.

« It…It isn’t my fault! I haven’t done anything! » she squeaked.

« EXACTLY! THAT’S THE POINT! YOU HAVE DONE NOTHING OR HAVEN’T SPOKEN, AND YOU JUST DID THEM A FAVOUR BY ENTERTAINING ME, WHILE MY FAMILY IS BEING KILLED BY YOURS! »

« I swear, my lord that I didn’t want to… »

« I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT WHAT YOU WANTED, AND YOUR WORDS! »

« You have no idea about what they could have done to me or to… »

She was interrupted, because his hands were gripping so tightly her neck that she was breathing, and her feet at one foot from the floor. Then he pushed her brutally against the wall. Her eyes and her face only showed fear and panic, and a part of Edmure felt very satisfied.

« SO YOU DON’T THINK THAT I CAN DO WORSE? »

And he was about to do it. Roslin couldn’t answer anymore, she was breathing less and less, and her face became more and more purple. Really, it would be easy for him to kill her. What he needed to do was just to tighten his grip a little more, and she would die, suffocated, without a major effort from him. It was what she deserved, after all.

_Come on, kill her. It will only be justice. You must revenge your family and defend our honor. You are a Tully, aren’t you? Family, duty, honor. Have you forgotten your own words?_

You are going to make yourself guilty of the same crime that you blame the Freys on. Do you want to get at their level?

_Anyway, they have violated the laws of hospitality, so they will be punished eventually by the gods._

This poor, defenseless little woman, it’s your wife, your family now.

_She’s a betrayer. This girl have made you feel love and pleasure, so that she could better stab you in the back, and send back to you your own heart and your honor shattered in pieces. If you don’t kill her, she will kill you, unless her brothers do. Be sure of that._

Kill her, and you will be sure to die. There will be no use to defend yourself, because they will want also to revenge their sister. You are the last Tully man alive. Giving them a good reason to murder you, it’s giving them Riverrun’s control, or allowing them to kill Lysa and Robin, if she decided to claim the castle. You have already enabled your uncle’s, your sister’s and your nephew’s deaths. Don’t you think this is enough?

Edmure released his wife, who fell on the floor like a rag doll and to vent, he kicked the closet’s door, which bore the mark after. While Roslin was coughing and trying to catch her breath, he put on his breeches, his shirt and his cloak, took his sword (he had left it there earlier, hidden under a shaky slat, as he didn’t trust the Freys) and tried to open the door. Which was obviously closed and barred.

« Seven fucking Hells ! » he swore through gritted teeth.

He didn’t hesitate, stepped back and broke down the doors. He found himself on the other side of the doors, in the middle of a battle that just stopped for a moment as they saw him.

He met the surprised gaze of Marq Piper and of some Freys soldiers.

« Run, my lord! » the heir of Pinkmaiden Castle yelled.

« What are you waiting for? » one of the Freys, who seemed to be the chief, bellowed. « Catch him, you butterfingers! »

Edmure ran as fast as he could in the lane, the Freys that were already not especially fast, were slowed even more by their armor. He even found time to hide behind a tapestry (which reeked of piss). Even though he had never been defeated at hide-and-seek since his childhood, Edmure had never thought that the Freys wouldn’t notice him. And it was what happened. He stayed a while behind the stinking fabric, heard several Frey’s suppositions about what he could have done each time two soldiers met in front of the tapestry.

When the majority agreed that, to keep some of his honor, he threw himself from the top of the tower, or to a similar idea, he decided to leave his hideout and to run. To the North. To the Neck. To Greywater Watch, if he didn’t lose himself on the way and if Howland Reed was good enough to help him.

After checking that nobody from his family in law was to be seen, he ran into another direction, one towards the Freys hadn’t run. He went down numerous stairs, and he finally found himself in front of a small door, which, if he trusted the noises that he heard, opened on the yard. Edmure unsheathed his sword and opened the door.

The first person he saw was Black Walder. _Holy shit_. He thought that all the family would be feasting merrily in the great hall, but he had forgotten that the hall might reek of blood and death, and it needed to be washed before celebrating whatsoever.

Black Walder was at first very surprised (like he thought he had come back from the dead), then he grinned widely, like a mad man. And his rictus became a grimace when Edmure scratched him on the arm (it was the wrong arm, but hopefully, it would slow him enough, since the cut was deep. Unluckily for him, he had stripped from his armor).

However he had forgotten that the Freys had a very different conception of honor than his. Indeed, he found himself on the floor by three other soldiers that he couldn’t get rid of, despite the fact that he was fighting like the devil. Black Walder came, grabbed him by the hair and forced him to his feet, before pushing him towards the yard’s dais. Did they want to kill him too?

« I’ll show you what happens to the arrogant highborn », he barked. « Hey, you three, remove his shirt and his vest! »

The trio hastened to obey (more likely to keep the fine clothes for themselves, even though it was useless since they were far fatter than him and would obviously never fit in them), then they cuffed him. Edmure was pretty sure that he would be beaten, either by the cat-o’-nine-tails, the blackjack or the bullwhip, depending on how Black Walder felt. Her tried to defend himself, but an escape was purely impossible as he found himself tied to the kettle.

The first strike lashed him the back, and he gritted his teeth. He recognized the cat’s tails, even though he had never been whipped by it before. He swore himself to not shout, to not give them satisfaction and especially not begging them for mercy. He would keep whatever honor he still had left, no matter what.

Then he received a second strike, a third, a fourth. And the blows followed one another, with a speed that echoed the pouring rain’s, which just resumed. The water gave his back in turn some brief comfort then a more burning pain, when the cat-o’-nine touched once more his skin.

Black Walder seemed to really enjoy what he was doing. If he was tired, his arm didn’t show it. A crowd of curiosity gathered to enjoy the show. Some even bet on how much strike it would take to Edmure to collapse. Others insulted him, or exhorted Black Walder. However Edmure could barely hear them. Pain was clouding his senses, and he tried to conserve the little of whatever energy he had left to not shout, so that his lips were in a pitiful state.

Then Roslin’s voice was heard:

« What are you doing? »

Her presence surprised him, and he turned his head to search her in the. She was standing, wrapped up in a big shawl, eyes wide in disbelief.

« Okay Roslin, I admit that you have been very helpful by banging Riverrun’s lord, but I would like you to not interfere. »

« You said that no harm would be come to him! » she protested.

« Huh? Did I say so? Oh yeah, I remember. But it’s not me that told him to act like a criminal. When someone acts like a fugitive, he must be treated as one, don’t you think? »

« Release him! » she begged.

« Or what? You’re gonna give me one of your septa-like’s scold? Or maybe your dear husband and Olyvar will kick my ass? »

« Shut the hell up Walder and for once, listen to your grandaunt! Tis not every day she says something intelligent, eh! »

The weasel just appeared, sitting on a strange chair with wheels. In spite of the pain, Edmure felt all his strength coming back as he saw the one that was behind the slaughter of his family.

« But lord grandfather… »

« I don’t wanna hear your poor excuses, eh! He has to attend his sister’s funeral! And if he dies now, ‘twill be the Blackfish that will rule on Riverrun. And only the Gods know how much time we will need to find him, eh! Now release your granduncle, would you? »

Learning his uncle was still alive (at least for now), Edmure felt suddenly happy. Without that, he probably wouldn’t stand as he was untied. He could barely put one foot after the other and his arms, which he almost couldn’t move without his whole back was shouting him to stop, were tingly. Fortunately, the rain was giving him some coolness and soothed a little his back.

The whole walked towards the bridge. Roslin tried to reach him, but she was stopped, which he wasn’t unhappy of. Eventually, they stopped before a naked corpse. A female naked corpse. _Why did they bring me here? To see a dead servant?_ Then Edmure recognized the abundant auburn mane.

« Cat… » he whispered, in disbelief.

She was unrecognizable. Her cheeks were crossed by long, red-blood stains (like something clawed her face) and her wound on her throat was gaping. The whole body was covered by flies, and a crow even venture to peck the corpse.

« What did you expect, son-in-law? Your sister was maybe an honorable, honest, pious woman, but it didn’t prevent her to die, eh! »

« Aye, and she was bawling like a sow! »

« In the end, she laughed like Mad Aerys! »

« Anyway, I’m not bothering myself with the body. The Tullys return to the river once their life is ended, isn’t it, eh? Don’t worry, this time, you won’t have to shot an arrow: given your pitiful skills, you are more likely to send half of my descendants to the Stranger, eh. »

« NOOO! CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT! » he yelled, as Black Walder and Petyr Pimple threw his sister’s body in the Green Fork.

His back was burning him, and he couldn’t move without feeling like a thousand big needles were piercing his back, however it didn’t prevent him to attack the dazed, old man who didn’t see the blow coming. If Edmure wasn’t very skilled with a bow, he certainly was more talented with his fists. The Crossing’s lord received a punch in the jaw (which would have probably make him spit his teeth if he hadn’t lost them already), and it took some time to his descendants to react and to control his son-in-law.

Old Walder shot him a hateful glare while holding his jaw. Edmure was looking straight into his eyes.

« I have nothing against you. I even planned to let you wander as you wish in the castle and enjoy life with your wife, but you really crossed the line, eh! » he spat. « Jail that son of bitch now, eh! » he added to his grandsons.

And this time, they didn’t give him the time to protest by punching him in the stomach, and, to be sure of his complete cooperation, they knocked him out.

 

 

When he woke up again, he was lying on his stomach, on a straw mattress that reeked of humidity. Unless it was his less than elf-by-ten cell, lit only by a weak flaming torch. Edmure spotted a shadow moving. Most likely a rat. He thought bitterly that it would give him some company.

« Oi, Edmure! »

He tried to rise, but he didn’t succeed, thanks to his back, which was still burning and hurting him. To not make things any better, his head was spinning. Nonetheless, he dragged himself to the bars, his teeth gritting. He recognized some cells ahead Marq Piper, who looked in a better state than him, in spite of his black eye and many bruises.

« So you’ve been jailed too? »

« Yep. Those bastards were far too many. Don’t know what loyal fight means. Anyway, ‘tisn’t like they knew what the word loyalty means. »

_Of course they know what it means. They simply gave their to someone which proposed them something better than a wedding with the Riverlord._

Silence settled between them. Edmure saw that, in a further cell, the Greatjon was prostrate on his straw mattress and wasn’t moving anymore. The only thing that indicated he was still alive was the rise and the fall of his chest.

« They killed the Smalljon », Marq explained in a low voice. « He hadn’t said a word since. »

« I’m sorry » Edmure said. « I know that it won’t repair what happened, but I am sorry nonetheless. »

« Are you joking? » Marq asked, quirking his eyebrows. « You couldn’t know! And they all trapped us, those bastards, and you the first! You know what? If you hadn’t been there, we’d all be dead by now, because we went up to bed you and Roslin, whereas near everyone that remained in the Great Hall died! Luckily, we noticed that the Freys girls disappeared quite quickly, and this is what tipped us off, and spoiled the surprise.”

Had they gone with the others to bed them, Cat and Robb would maybe be still alive. Edmure was feeling guiltier than ever.

« By the way, how was it with Roslin? »

« I don’t wanna talk about it. »

Marq wasn’t aware of the fact he was rubbing salt on a wound that was still raw.

« Oh come on, ‘tisn’t like your fish was floppy or something! We could hear her moan from the other side of the… »

« I SAID I DIDN’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! »

Edmure didn’t notice he had shouted. He didn’t especially wanted to, but the pain in his back and his headache undermined every inch of patience he had.

Again, there was an uncomfortable silence between them.

« They didn’t go easy with you», Marq said after a long time. « Your back is as scary as the Hound’s face. Black Walder didn’t did this half-heartedly. »

« Thanks, I have already noticed. »

« No, I don’t think so. You stayed out during two days and a half. The sun is going down soon. »

The doors opened, bringing more light and a very unpleasant smell of death, blood and decomposition. During a moment, Edmure thought a direwolf standing on his rear paws has entered the cells. Then he recognized with disgust that it was a man to whom Greywind’s head has been sewn. _Really, what kind of people are they to do such things?_

« Greet the King that couldn’t save your worthless life! » a Frey claimed.

He immediately understood that the man’s body was Robb’s. It was true, before, he settled his grudge on him, however he had forgiven him (actually, he did it since he saw what Roslin looked like, but there was no way he would admit it, even to himself). Edmure wasnt’ one that was as resentful as Walder, and he hadn’t never been able to hold grudge against someone, but now, he hated the Freys with all his being.

In his cell, the Greatjon had risen and shot a hateful glare to the soldiers. When they tried to force him to kiss Robb (or what remained of him)’s hand, his fist crossed the bars.

« Wow, easy. You saw what Black Walder made to ser Tully, and he would be more than delighted to make you suffer worst. »

« Look over there !” the othe said, tugging at his sleeves and pointing Edmure’s cell. “ Tully is still alive! »

« Never thought someone could stand a beating from Black Walder.” He commented, approaching his cell. “You know what, dear uncle? Grandfather is very, very angry after you. So angry he forbade us to give you some food or water, or anything.”

“Come on man, let’s go up. Take a moment and look very attentively to your King, for this is the last time you see him. We would have gladly kept him longer, but it reeks too much. We’re gonna get rid of it now. This time, we don’t invite you to the ceremony; otherwise ser Tully will eventually eat one of us. »

Edmure didn’t even have the strength to protest. It was useless, as to ask where and how would take place his nephew’s « funerals ». It would only make his anger and his disgust even greater than they already were.

The door closed on hilarious Freys.

His family has just been shattered. He was and could do nothing for the others, to make amends, whereas, since all that happened was partly his fault, he should have been able to repair his wrongs. But how was he supposed to repair dead people and families forever shattered?

For the first time, Edmure was glad his father was dead, otherwise he would have been deeply ashamed by his son’s disgrace. Of all the Tullys, there was no doubt he was the less respectable and the one that soiled the most the family’s reputation. Nothing remained of their words.

Family, duty, honor.

He just lost all of them.

 


	7. VII Roslin

**VII ROSLIN**

They buried Benfrey, who died at the wedding, on the western rive of the Green Fork, in the Frey graveyard, his grave at the side of their mother’s. Walder Frey didn’t forget to give them a speech, to remind his descendants that, despite their loss, house Frey was still powerful, and even more now. That they would become a respected and feared family who would rule over the Riverlands, and whose History would never forget the name. He also mocked all the dead guests, whose bodies had been mercilessly thrown in the Green Fork, without any ceremony. All the Freys present laughed. Then Benfrey’s name was said once more and, as everybody began to shout his name, he became a martyr.

Only Roslin didn’t say a thing. She was standing at Olyvar’s sides, and they were standing out the mass. He almost became mad when he saw what happened in the castle and what remained of his king. Olyvar said Benfrey was a « stubborn idiot » and a «reckless fanatic ». They reacted quite quickly to that: he was beaten, than thrown again in the cell he just exited.

She felt she was living a nightmare. When Edmure almost strangled her, his eyes weren’t light blue, they were dark, not because of desire, but because of fury and hatred. His hands squeezed her throat so tightly that she could hardly believe that, just some moments ago, they. They had left marks on her throat, along those he had left when he was kissing and nipping at the skin.

Roslin was really expecting to die, as she watched her life flash before her eyes. It would anyway be better than to spend the rest of her life with this guilt she could hardly bear. It would be better than to be hated and despised by her husband. She was aware of her betrayal, and she was feeling very ashamed to have betrayed him in such a way, to have answered his kisses and caresses, before telling him what was really happening.

However, he didn’t kill her. She wondered what changed his mind. She was dying to retain him, but he wouldn’t have listened to her anyway. Moreover, she was too busy trying to catch her breath. While the fighting raged, Roslin heard him escape. She put on her gown and a shawl, kneeled and began to pray for him.

Roslin must’ve fallen asleep, because she woke up on the cold ground. She hoped everything was only a bad dream, but the broken down door and the smell of death disabused her. There were noises, too, coming from the outside. It was probably what woke her. She quickly glanced through the window. The rain was pouring, and the sky was covered by big, grey clouds. Then she glanced at the yard, whose muddy ground became red. In the center, the Frey soldiers had gathered around the dais. A man was whipped. _Poor man_ , she thought. _He escaped the slaughter, only to be and be the source of amusement for the soldiers._ She approached the window, and began to scrutinize the man, seeing if she knew him.

Well, she did. There wasn’t many men having auburn hair, and _he_ was certainly the only one in this wedding.

Without thinking, she exited the room, bare feet, running, and went down the stairs, avoiding as much as she could the puddles of blood she encountered, bringing her shawl to the nose, so as to not breathe this horrible smell. She arrived soon in the yard, flattened by the rain, and her fears confirmed. It felt like she was suffocating again.

Edmure’s back didn’t look like a normal back anymore. It looked more like a piece of raw meat sold by a butcher, as it was striped with red. Blood and tainted his breeches. His body winced every time the cat-o-nine-tails touched his skin, but no sound came out of his mouth. Roslin was so horrified by what she saw that she looked away for an instant. _He will never make it, if Black Walder keeps on whipping him with such intensity! He is tireless, so he’ll probably stop when Edmure will beg for mercy or forgiveness, which he won’t, or if he dies. And if he does, then all I’ve done would be ruined._

So she yelled at Black Walder to stop. Which he did, just the time to answer her, while Edmure’s eyes were searching her. Fortunately, Father had interfered. But Roslin doubted of the benevolence of his decision. She was right, because he was untied only to be brought to his sister’s ersatz of funerals. Roslin was actually horrified, by Catelyn Tully-Stark current look, and by the new transgression of the Seven’s laws.

It all became worse as she watched him punch Father. Walder’s head almost detached from his neck, and his mouth was covered in blood. After a short moment of surprise, they punched Edmure in the guts, before knocking him out. Powerless, she watched them bringing him to his cell, in spite of her protestations.

Then she went up, in the room they shared just some hours ago. It seemed to her empty, cold, and the Tully colors that were hanging on the walls seemed to make fun of her, and the trouts didn’t stop shooting her a disapproving glance.

« I did nothing… » Roslin whispered again, her tears welling up in her eyes.

She exchanged her now completely soaked shawl for the maiden’s cloak, to warm herself up. She was cold, so cold, and apart from her body, her soul was also frozen. On the ground, she spotted Edmure’s doublet. She took it, and recognized this particular smell, his smell, which she had become intoxicated with.

Roslin, sobbing and shaking, collapsed on the bed, wrapped up in the cloak and pressing his doublet tight against her.

Family, duty, honor.

Three words that would never be hers.

                                                                                       ***

« Are you alright, lord Grandfather? » a man asked, as the Lord of the Crossing wiped the blood pouring at the corner of his mouth.

« Of course not, you bloody idiot! What are you waiting for to fetch maester Brenett, eh? »

The Frey had gone up the stairs, running. Walder was still furious and he was shaking with anger.

« That thrice damned son of bitch, eh! Never thought he had such strength! How dare he hit me, while I spared his worthless life? If he doesn’t want to be treated as a guest, fine, we will treat us as an enemy, eh. Listen, y’all! I want nobody to give our angry trout food, or drink or whatsoever! And this applies especially for you, Roslin! Have you understood, eh? »

« Yes father », she had answered, lowering her eyes.

***

Sitting on the windowsill of her new room, Roslin played lute, looking at the Green Fork, but her heart wasn’t in it. Some weeks ago, she regretted deeply that nothing ever happened at the Twins, and now, she was regretting the slaughter that had taken place. She dreamt to see what the world outside the Twins looked like, and she knew deep in her heart that she would probably never see Riverrun. She had sometimes prayed for a room for her and only her, to be alone when her family was too boring, and it put her too much ill-at-ease, yet she found the new room too empty.

A move in the yard tore her away from those thoughts. Three soldiers lifted what remained of the King in the North. Roslin recognized his silhouette for she had seen too many times, slumped on a chair, when she took her meals with her family in the Great Hall. While her father and the other men were happily eating and joking and even making fun of the King in the North by talking to him or making fun of her wedding in general, Roslin ate nothing, because of what she had done, and the smell of death, blood and putrefaction that persisted in remaining in the castle, whatever they did to get rid of it.

There was no doubt they were about to get rid of him. Finally. The corpse was emitting an unbearable stench, so that several women had already collapsed. But Robb would probably be thrown in the river, where the Freys had already thrown the bodies of all their dead enemies.

She wondered what would happen to Edmure if he died. It was already three days after the beating and their wedding, and he still hadn’t move. Or at least, it was what pretended the blonde knight who was jailed two cells away. And given the state of his back, Edmure would probably suffer longer. Maybe he was even dead. Who knew? Since nobody was supposed to bring him food or to take care of him and the prisoners had no right to move outside from their cells, nobody could have checked if he was still alive.

If her husband died, Father was more likely to not lift even the littlest of his fingers and let her manage. In this, Roslin would have liked to respect Tully’s customs (the true ones, not the enactment she witnessed just days ago), and she hoped Olyvar would accept to shot a flamed arrow on the funeral boat, because it was clear that no one from her family would help her.

Moreover, her brother too wasn’t the same since the wedding. He didn’t speak anymore, and stayed in his room, laying on his bed, empty eyes staring into space. He never exited his room, and stayed totally impassive when his brothers, his nephews or his grandnephews came to insult him or shake him up. _Because of our wedding, my husband lost his sister, and I my brother_ , she realized bitterly. Of course, she hadn’t lost him physically, but honestly, she found that her brother quite became a shell, which was living only because she was regularly paying him visits, and she always tried to make him eat something, even though she knew in advance he wouldn’t swallow much.

Roslin didn’t felt like her family this night, so she went to the kitchen and cooked herself a broth. She poured it in a bottle, and was going to head back to her room when she heard some Freys talking about the prisoners. Her heart lightened a bit as she learnt Edmure woke up, and decided to go to see him now. Oh, of course, she didn’t delude herself; she knew that he wouldn’t be happy to see her, yet she wasn’t discouraged.

She wrapped the bottle in her shawl and went to the cells. The guard, not very suspicious, let her without really paying attention to her, and the one that accompanied her to ensure her security didn’t even try to know what she was doing with her shawl. She just as she smelled the humidity. Then the guard bellowed:

« Hey Tully! Ya got some visit! »

Roslin felt on her the look of all the other jailed men and bowed her head. She expected the insults to come from all the cells, all the more since, until he decided otherwise, her husband’s cells couldn’t be open, Walder Frey not wanting « this enraged degenerate» to eventually kill one of his descendants. The guard, who believed he had fulfilled his role, left her there, among a dozen men, who waited impatiently for the occasion to have their revenge.

She took a deep breath, she walked towards the where her husband was jailed. He neither saw nor heard her, as he was lying on his stomach. Roslin bit her lip as she glanced at his back. The wounds weren’t only blood-red anymore, some were turning black, while bruises could be seen under the purulent stripes.

She suddenly felt a little silly to have come with nothing to give him. She should have taken clean clothes, in his room, or a blanket. Humidity made the air currents that circulated in the cells even colder.

Eventually Edmure noticed her presence. He sat up straight, and she could see, to her horror, that this banal action was making him grimace in pain. When he saw her, he rolled his eyes, doing nothing to hide his annoyance.

« My lord… »

« I don’t want to talk to you. »

Ah. She was expecting it, but facing it was far more difficult. His blue eyes, that mirrored once more hatred and fury, gave her such a glare that she had no choice but to look away. She began regretting she had come there.

« I am sorry », she whispered again.

« What didn’t you understand in « I don’t want to talk to you »? The « I don’t want » or « to talk to you » ? »

He had raised his voice and began to swear. Very bad sign.

« I am relieved that you are still alive.»

« GO AWAY ! »

It felt like he had shattered Roslin’s heart. She was so put out that she was leaving. Then she spotted her shawl and the bottle, then slipped it through the bars. She went away, like he wanted, without expecting him to say something. At least he would have something in his stomach and something to warm him a little.

She didn’t care if Father forbade every member of the family to give Edmure something to eat (and anyway, she noticed with a faint smile, people _drinked_ broth). She didn’t care if he didn’t love her. As strange as it might seem, Roslin has managed to fall in love at first sight. And even though her love wasn’t reciprocated, she was determinate to keep Edmure alive.

 


	8. VIII Edmure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains verbal abuse against man and woman.

**VIII EDMURE**

« You won’t drink the bottle? »

« Nope. »

« Why? »

« Could be poison. »

« Could be as well something edible, or some medicine for your back. »

Edmure didn’t answer.

« Believe me, if she or her family wanted to kill you, either they would have given you poisoned drink or they would have let that son of bitch of Black Walder beat you to death. Anyway, they would have done it sooner. »

Honestly, although Marq Piper was his best friend, Edmure could less and less bear their conversations. On the one hand, Pinkmaiden’s heir was putting his nose in what wasn’t his business (but who could blame him? Time passed so slowly when you were imprisoned, and he was so bored that only talks could kill time). On the other hand, what he said wasn’t totally false (there was even an ounce of common sense in it), but there was no way he would admit it, neither to himself nor to his interlocutor. Besides, the pain he was suffering was enough to infuriate a bull and was slowly removing each bit of patience he had left.

Marq insisted:

« Open it. Thus you will know. »

Reluctantly, Edmure removed the bottle’s cap. The container was tepid (which his hands appreciated, as they were numb, thanks to the cold and the humidity of the cells), and was exhaling a tasty smell that got his mouth watering. _She brought me a broth_ , he realized.

« She brought you food! » Marq said, as he recognized the smell.

Edmure shot him a look that meant « So what? », and the knight explained:

« You don’t realize? She’s doing something that the old bastard totally forbade! While you were out, his sons or his grandsons came in and announced that whoever would be seen giving you food would be beaten too and receive no more food. »

Edmure pictured himself a Roslin, tied to a kettle, Black Walder smiling like a mad man, enjoying very much to whip ceaselessly her back. This oppressed briefly his heart, all the more that he knew very well that she would never bear such pain. Then he remembered he was supposed to be mad at his wife, which made him even angrier than he already was.

He closed the bottle and put it on the shawl, while Marq was looking at him, wide-eyed.

« What are you doing? »

« I don’t want her shitty broth! She can keep it! »

Edmure knew that he was acting like a temperamental child, but he couldn’t care less. His friend tried to reason with him:

« Maybe it’s the only time they will give you food! »

« They won’t let me die. »

As the Blackfish was, for all he knew, still free, wandering in the Seven kingdoms, the family couldn’t afford to kill Edmure. Otherwise, the Riverlands would rally immediately Brynden, and that was the least thing the Freys wanted.

« The weasel, no, but Black Walder, yes, and he already showed it! »

Edmure rolled his eyes, while taking a deep breath, expressing his deep irritation. Unfortunately, from where he was, Marq could neither hear nor see him distinctly, so he continued:

« Frankly, you’re overreacting! This broth, she made it for you, and it can only be better than the horrible they give us! If I was married and my wife cooked me a meal while I was imprisoned, I wouldn’t turn it down! »

« First of all, you have no wife. Secondly, her family didn’t decimate yours or your bannermen. And thirdly, I don’t want to receive anything from her, for the simple reason that all her deeds and gifts are poisoned! »

« I am sorry », the knight apologized after a moment. « I didn’t want to say it like that. »

Despite his apologies, Edmure didn’t answer. He was once more lying on his stomach on the humid straw and tried to sleep, forgetting his back which was burning him, his stomach yelling and the coldness he was feeling, even under the worn blanket they had the benevolence to give him.

He would never touch the shawl, and even less the bottle.

He’d rather die.

***

 

To his greater surprise and his great displeasure, she came back the next day. She didn’t seem very confident as she entered the cells. When she arrived in front of his door, she pulled out two shirts from the large sleeves of her dress, and put them down on the shawl. Edmure noticed, almost with delectation, that she seemed very disappointed that he touched neither the bottle nor the shawl.

He welcomed her with:

« Who allowed you to touch my personal belongings? »

Embarrassed, she cleared her throat and said in a small voice:

« I thought that you may appreciate to have a shirt… »

To which he answered in the coldest tone possible:

« Too bad that you didn’t think I might appreciate to know my family was about to get slaughtered. »

Ill at ease, she lowered her gaze and backed on, leaving the cells.

However, he didn’t put on the tunics, even though they were his and Marq tried several times to convince him. He would still be cold, and the next nights too, but what remained of his honor would keep him warm enough.

 

The following days, she kept on asking him if he needed something, and if it was the case, what precisely. Since he generally never answered her, she enumerated a bunch of things, hoping he would be interested by clothes, warm meals, alcohol, a warmer blanket, a bath or even distractions, such as books or to play an instrument. It usually stopped when she had nothing left to propose him, or when he told, for instance « Fetch me a quill and a piece of parchment. I would like to check if the head of all your family members would be enough to line the castle’s ramparts with», or « I would like the rumors to be true and the dragons of the Targaryen girl inflict the Crossing a thousand times what was inflicted to Harrenhal ».

Frankly, he didn’t see why she was bothering with him. She kept on coming every day, even though she know perfectly well that he would send her packing or humiliate her. Edmure began to have enough of her visits. He just wanted her to let him be, because the pain in his back was bringing back ceaselessly.

Eventually, some days after her first visit, he drank the broth. He couldn’t resist his hunger anymore and those damned rats were too fast to enable him to catch one! Although it was now icy cold, it seemed to be the best thing he ever ate and the worse, because it had the taste of failure, the taste of shame, the taste of weakness and it proved him once more that he could never find again the honor he had lost.

 

Paradoxically, what he dreaded and what he wanted most of all, was that she noticed his health’s degradation. He was so burning that even the air currents made cold by humidity weren’t enough to refresh him. Besides, his whole body was hurting him, so that he moved less and less and spent his days lying on his straw mattress. Sometimes, he was shivering uncontrollably and his teeth began to chatter.

Black Walder seemed to have well noticed his weakness. And he took advantage of it to tell him in great details the slaughter of the Northern and Riverlander bannermen, and his sister’s and his nephew’s. After he and Roslin left, the doors were barred, and everybody was locked in the hall. Arrows were shot from the musicians’ balcony (Edmure understood suddenly why they played so bad), and all the members of Robb’s guard were killed, and the king in the North in a more barbaric way. To sum it up, there were far more casualties on the Northerner and Riverlander’s side (near everybody that was present in the Hall was killed, except the few valuable men who were kept as hostages), than on the Frey’s, as Walder said before leaving that, on top of mourning Cat and Robb, Edmure had to mourn his brother-in-law, Benfrey, also slain during the wedding. _As if I would mourn someone from your family. It will snow at Sunspear the day I will_.

The next time, a few days after, he reminded him how Robb was pierced by a cloud of arrows, before Roose Bolton struck the final blow with his sword. He also told him how Grey Wind, having nowhere to hide since he was stuck in his cage, was also killed by an arrow shot at short range. Black Walder was preventing himself to laugh when he related how his nephew and the direwolf were beheaded, the Frey switched the heads and Raymun sewed the animal’s head to the king’s neck, using skin flaps and hair. As for Ryman Frey, the father of Edmure’s interlocutor, he took the crown and kept it.

The third time, he felt like Black Walder just gave him the blow off. None of his visits was of good omen, but this one was by far the most terrible.

Lysa was dead. He told him with eyes glimmering and a large, wicked smile that she killed herself, as she couldn’t bear anymore the pain she felt after the murdering of her family. « Or the shame of her little brother, who bedded a Frey girl as your family, was being slaughtered and has been beaten and jailed like any other man. »

But this time, Black Walder didn’t plan that Edmure would not stay impassive. He took the bottle and threw it at Roslin’s grandnephew. Seeing the shattered pieces of glass entering his interlocutor’s skin made him feel extremely happy of what he’d just done. He felt even more happy and vengeful as he knew he looked so really bad and sick that they couldn’t punish properly without risking killing him.

And when the Frey exited the room, he was yelling like a pork being stuck, whereas the two previous times he was laughing darkly. Another difference: the prisoners, who took advantage of the occasion to vent their hatred and their resentment, showered him with abuses and various objects they threw between the bars.

After Black Walder left (and shouted them threats), Edmure was acclaimed by the other men jailed. He hardly answered, because his hatred towards the Freys and the sorrow he was feeling inhibited the brief, exhilarating feeling that resulted of his revenge. First, it was Cat; not it was Lysa’s turn. Oh, why did the gods set themselves against his family?

He just got back on his straw mattress when she came for her daily visit. His anger, far from fading, overtook on his sorrow and was reinforced by the irritation and annoyance that characterized each visit of his wife.

« My lord, I’ve learnt about your sister… My most sincere condolences… »

« Get out», Edmure mumbled through gritted teeth.

His head was hurting more and more and his anger would become incontrollable in a few seconds.

« I beg your pardon? »

« Get the hell out! »        

She became as pale as a sheet, looking at him, eyes wide in shock. But she didn’t move. And Edmure would have liked to be alone, to mourn his sister. The new brought by a sadistic Frey was even more painful than if it was announced by someone else, and it only increased his anger towards his family-in-law (just the thought was making him sick). Consequently, he didn’t want to see any member of the family, and even less his wife, even though he didn’t doubt her company was more pleasant than her grandnephew’s.        

Edmure looked once more at the bars; she was still there, she hadn’t made a move. Having lost his patience, being completely feverish, he yelled at her:

« ARE YOU DEAF, OR WHAT? I SAID I DIDN’T WANT TO SEE YOU ANYMORE, YOU HYPOCRICTICAL BITCH! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH YOU AND YOUR FAMILY DISGUST ME! »

As soon as he said those words, he regretted them. Once more, he had spoken without thinking. These words weren’t meant for her. She shouldn’t have heard them, or he shouldn’t have said them. It wasn’t her that should be insulted, but the asshole that was her grandnephew and announced him Lysa’s death. Roslin didn’t think bad when she presented him her condolences.

He wanted to say her that he was sorry and that he didn’t meant (well, not the insult, at least), but she had already left, and the cells became silencer again. He went back on his mattress with a heavy heart.

An hour later, a Frey’s squad came; they opened his cell, entered it and put him in handcuffs. Unceremoniously and without taking into account the prisoner’s protestations, he was thrown out of his cell and they forced him to walk on.

In the door’s frame stood Black Walder, arms crossed in front of him, smiling victoriously.

« Where are you planning to bring me? »

« In the oubliettes, Tully. As my great-grandfather learnt how you behaved, he had been very disappointed. He intended to suppress the interdiction to give you food because we know anyway that Rose is bringing you food on the sly, but when he learnt what you did this afternoon…Come on, move, you lazy lumps ! Bring him downstairs! And you, stop barking or I’ll beat you to death personally one by one! »

Edmure was thrown into an endless, narrow spiral staircase, in which he escaped several times a fall that would have been fatal, for him in his actual state. He stopped for a moment, as the world became suddenly back, and when they shoved him again, he was still seeing black butterflies dancing in front of his eyes and the walls as well as the stairs were still dancing. His arms were tied behind him, stretched and rubbed his skin in a very painful way.

Eventually, he was locked in a tiny cell, which was lighted only by a small torch that would put out soon. In a corner, as only furniture, there was a wooden board not too rotten.

« Bye Tully. I hope that you will appreciate your stay there, he he he », Black Walder said, before going away.

Edmure, feeling himself suddenly very tired, collapsed on the wooden board. It was moisture-laden, so it didn’t bear his weight and broke in two. Shit. He just lost the only comfort of this cell, which was way more humid than the previous one (he was probably at the Green Fork’s level, unless it was under the river), so colder.

In spite of all his efforts, he couldn’t sleep. He was burning and sweating, and the next moment, he was so cold he shivered like a leaf and his teeth chattered. He really regretted the worn blanket, and would have gladly worn a tunic (he tried to wear one, some days ago, but the fabric was sticking to his purulent wounds, and if he felt less the cold, he felt more pain each time he moved). He would have even slept, wrapped in Roslin’s shawl. On top of that, the world didn’t seem to want to stay at its place, and was constantly revolving around him.

Olyvar Frey couldn’t have chosen a worst moment to pay him a visit.


	9. IX ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have one of the two 'guest' POVs, and this one is...  
> ...Olyvar Frey's!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Sorry for the delay, I had a little (too much) homework to do this week. Moreover, whenever I was working on this chapter, sprawled in the couch, my dad would put a good movie, and soon I totally forgot about the fic and got absorbed by the movie XD Not to mention that I began to write an AU oneshot, still in ASoIaF/GoT fandom (that you may discover soon).  
> Anyway, enjoy!

**IX OLYVAR**

If they didn’t show him what happened to Robb just after he exited his cell, Olyvar would have had probably enough strength to return to normal life, and try to act like nothing ever happened.

But as he saw what they did to the one he eventually considered like a brother, he was deeply disgusted and lost definitively faith in his family. He thought about leaving the Twins to rejoin Greywater Watch, but there were few chances for him to get there alive, and even fewer for him to not be the object of the King in the North’s death’s revenge.

He didn’t understand how his family could make of a slaughter just an anecdote, a victory’s story, an endless source of jokes each one blacker and worse than the other. Each time he heard one of those jokes, he tried to hide his disgust, then he decided to avoid his family, so he wouldn’t hear them. If he was a little lucky, they wouldn’t care about him and would leave him be. He never thought the rather stupid members of his family would be so creative.

At the end of the first day, Olyvar decided to stay in his chamber and to exit it only if he really needed. At least, his family acted like he predicted: they left him alone. Maybe a little too alone. It was like he didn’t exist anymore, as if he had been killed too at the wedding, which was kind the case. Nobody seemed to consider him as a relative, so did he (which father would stand there and watch you being beaten, before locking you in a tiny cell, so as to be certain that you wouldn’t prevent the realization of his low, disproportionate revenge?).

Fortunately, there was Roslin and her altruism, because, honestly, he would be dead by starvation without her. She always came in his room, to play some music (currently, she played sad ballads) and to make him eat something, while he lied on his bed, unable to move, eyes glued on the ceiling, always dark thoughts, each one related to this damned wedding. If it wasn’t for Roslin, he would have ended his days long ago, but she had her fair share of problems, and didn’t need to mourn her favorite brother. It would kill her.

Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he agreed that Roslin was undoubtedly the one that suffered the most, and the one he felt the most sorry for. Saying that her relationship with her husband was tense was a euphemism. Every time she came back from one of her visits, she was on the verge of tears, as she was very worried (she said once that she found he had a weary face).

Olyvar would have liked to help her save what could still be saved; he knew what he could do that Roslin wasn’t already doing. She tried by every way to overcome his pride and his stubbornness, to ease his living conditions, to prepare him food that he didn’t even touch and would be eaten by rats, and on top of that, she went every morning to pray in the sept. _Poor little sister_ , he often thought. _May the Seven hear your prayers and pity you_.

He felt even more dismayed to see that he could do nothing for his sister. He kept on asking her if he could do something for her (since he began to move a little and to eat by himself, which had already relived Roslin), however, she always refused his help, smiling sadly at him, telling that she didn’t need his help, or that she would do it alone, since it was between her husband and her.

But an evening, she burst into tears as soon as she stepped in his chamber, after slamming the door shut behind her. Olyvar forgot his despair and rushed towards her, to know what happened to her, imagining about the worst possibilities. He hugged her, and stroke gently her hair and her back, calming little by little Roslin’s hiccups.

« What happened? » he asked her.

« He… He h-hates me! »

No need to ask who the «he» Roslin was speaking about.

« No, I don’t think so. He’s just trying to vent his anger, his sorrow or whatever negative feel he has, and as you are the one that pays him a visit the more, it’s you that . »

« No. He really hates me. »

She had spoken in a low, defeated tone. She took a deep breath and looked up at him, her big brown eyes full of tears.

« Olyvar… He said I was a hypocritical bitch! »

While she tried to calm herself, Olyvar’s blood boiled, and, for the time in weeks, he felt overcame by rage and anger. Gods, he was going to make him pay, even though he was his brother-in-law, and to dot the i’s once for all.

« Is he also the one that made you that? », he questioned, pointing at the red mark on Roslin’s cheek, his voice trembling due to anger.

« No, but Black Walder did. As I was going to enter the cells, he went out with several scratches. He asked me to pass this (she showed her cheek) on to lord Edmure. At that moment, I didn’t understand why he was acting so, but when I came before his cell, I saw shattered glass on the floor. I think Walder must have told him about lady Arryn-Baelish’s death and he got those scratches in answer. »

So Black Walder was also involved. That was good, Olyvar wanted to settle scores with his grandnephew. But before that, he was taking care of the Tully case. He raised himself to his feet.

« Rose, stay here and wait my return. »

« Where are you going? »

« Talking to my brother in law. »

« No, please! Don’t hurt him! It isn’t entirely his fault; he isn’t aware of what he does or says, everybody become mad in prison with such a bad wound! »

« Roslin, he just insulted you and made you cry! »

« I know, but it’s nothing compared to what he must be suffering now. You don’t need to hurt him just because of that! »

Olyvar sighed. Exactly his sister, unable to hold grudges against anybody.

« I’ll promise I’ll try. But don’t expect from me clemency and forgiveness if he throws something at my face! »

With those words, he exited the chamber. He walked quickly towards the prison located in the tower where he was now, the one he had been imprisoned in. He found no guards, and no prisoners. It seemed like his good brother was locked in the other tower. He swore. He should have asked to Roslin where her husband was locked, it would have spared him, the time he lost by going up and down those damn, too long stairs.

He crossed the bridge, almost running; not paying attention to the comments and what the castle’s inhabitants said, and then he went down the stairs leading to the prisons of the other tower. He passed by the two levels reserved for the small prisoners (the one that were mere knights), he eventually arrived to the level where were imprisoned the one that were more valuable (the castellans or the heirs of some castle. Both shot him deadly glare, and he kept on reminding himself to not pay attention to them). Technically, it was where Edmure was supposed to be, in the cell in the back, but it was empty.

Olyvar feared immediately the worst. And what if Black Walder had brought him in the torture chamber, so as to revenge? It was far from being improbable: the Freys needed him alive, but it didn’t exclude the possibility to beat as many times as they wished, at least not until the wounds would cause the lord of Riverrun’s death.

So he went up the stairs again, passing by the three levels. He was shaking as he opened the door. Fortunately, the room was empty, and Olyvar let out a sigh in relief (he hardly pictured himself explaining to Roslin that her husband had been by a lot of instruments, whose the sole sight was enough to make a grown man pee in his breeches).

Oh dear. Now Tully had disappeared, and Olyvar couldn’t think of another place in the castle where his brother-in-law would be. It was impossible that they transferred him in a normal chamber: Black Walder was very capable to make the life of the few people that dared to threaten his so-called power or to humiliate him a living hell, and to convince the others to behave like him.

He was called by one of the guards:

« Hey, Olyvar! What’s up? It has been a while since we last saw you! »

« Aye, aye, » Olyvar answered absently.

As if I read in her thoughts, one said to him:

« You’re looking for Tully, aren’t you? »

« Where is he? »

« In the last cell, why? »

Olyvar prevented himself to groan, expressing his discontent. He swore himself it was the last time he would pay his good brother a visit without searching exactly where in the castle he was jailed. This entire cavalcade only made him angrier against lord Tully.

As he (finally) arrived in front of the lord of Riverrun’s cell, he immediately understood what Roslin meant when she said he looked worn out. He didn’t look healthy at all: his cheeks were as red as his hair, and his eyes were too shiny. There was pride, challenge on it, but not only. No to mention that his lips were white and completely crackled.

Just for a moment, he wondered if it was worth talking of a rather delicate subject with someone that didn’t look able to bear it. However, he didn’t go back, he was determined to not go before telling him what he wanted to.

« Fuck, » Edmure sniggered. « Did you Freys swore to come one by one to piss me off? »

As he saw Olyvar coming, he raised up a bit. It seemed to Roslin’s brother that his interlocutor briefly shook, unless it was the result of the light vacillating.

« Indeed. I won’t leave you be until I’ll say what I had to. »

« Did you come for revenge? »

« It has nothing to do with revenge. A big brother cannot stay impassive as his little sister suffers because of a man. Since you have sisters, you should understand. »

« I had two sister, before you slaughtered one, which caused the second to kill herself », Edmure with an acid tone

« Do you hate my sister? » Olyvar asked point blank.

« Aye, I hate her. » He answered too quickly to reflect what he really thought. « So what? »

« Maybe you hate her, but she still loves you. She loves you so much it hurts her. But I think you already know it. Do you have any idea of what Roslin’s been through? »

Edmure answered nothing, which was pretty wise of him.

« Few women would have kept on visiting you after the things you said or did, and you know it. In spite of that, Roslin always pleaded in your favor in front of Father, she always prayed, for you to forgive her, and to prevent any harm come to you and she tried by all means to make your life a little easier. And in return, she was always only given failure, humiliation, offenses. But Roslin doesn’t hold grudges against you; before I came, she even made me promise to not harm you, and I am certain she would gladly give up her titles and everything she has if it could guarantee her your forgiveness. Although you pretend to hate her, you aren’t completely immune to her perseverance and her devotion, and you can’t deny it. »

Olyvar stopped a moment, to give Edmure time to understand, and then he asked:

« Why do you hate her? Is it because she couldn’t stop the wedding? »

Given the glare Edmure shot him, he knew he put the finger on it.

« Then, if you want to blame someone, blame me. »

« How chivalrous from you to protect your sister… »

« But that’s the truth! You know there are people in this castle that are prone to violence! Alone, Roslin had no chance to prevent the wedding. If she kept on protesting, she would have been killed too, and you would have married Alyx or Fair Walda, and I guarantee you they wouldn’t have done half what Roslin did for you! Then you would have a good reason to hate them. No, I am responsible. If I kept my mouth shut when Father told us what he intended to do, I wouldn’t have been jailed, and I could have warned you by raven, or moving myself if I had to, and prevent the murder of the one that I considered like a brother ! Do you really think that Roslin and I that are like the rest of our family, people only driven by the desire of power and wealth, so as to break the laws of the Seven and humans? Do you think we didn’t wake every day without feeling shame, guilt and remorse? »

« It’s easy to regret », Edmure mumbled.

« Not for the other members of my family, alas. »

He stepped back, going away from the bars.

« I said what I had to say, and I hope that you will take time to think about it. And the next time you want to vent your hate on someone, don’t forget who the real enemy is. »

Those were the words Olyvar left the prison with. He felt like a big weight had been lifted from his shoulders, since he revealed to no one what he just said to Edmure. However, he wasn’t very reassured, because his interlocutor spoke very few. He expected him to react more, but it seemed that illness, lassitude and the pain his back caused him overcame him little by little.

And, without knowing why, he felt that Edmure would still cause Roslin to worry.


	10. X Roslin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Roslin is a healer, a washwoman, an exterminator and a barber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy!  
> So we get back to the normal POV.  
> Originally this chapter was smaller, but as I translated it, I noticed that some passages were missing, so I added them. So for now, it's the longer one.  
> And, before you ask, all the infusions and poultices that I mentioned in this chapter are real, and really have the same effects than in the chapter (told you I tried to be realistic! OK, maybe that was too extreme...)

X ROSLIN

As Olyvar entered the chamber, Roslin jumped from the bed corner, ready to ask him what happened. It seemed like he didn’t fight, and it relieved her to notice that. But when she saw her brother looked preoccupied, she suddenly wasn’t so sure of wanting to hear what he would say and all the more since he took way more time to get to the cells and come back than she did.

« Damn soldiers! » he swore, as he let himself fall on the bed.

« Why do you say that? » she asked, sitting next to him.

« Roslin, promise me to stay calm. »

This sentence had the contrary effect on her.

« Did…did they kill him? » she asked in a shaky voice, tears welling up in her eyes.

« No, » Olyvar answered in a reassuring tone. « But it’s probably what will happen if nothing is done… »

He looked at her in the eyes, and then said after a long sigh:

« Rose, they put him in the oubliettes. »

She immediately began to panic. She knew very well that being put in the oubliettes meant the most total destitution, an icy cold and humidity everywhere. And, given his current state, there was no way Edmure would survive several nights in those conditions!

Roslin thought about bringing him what he needed, but, since he refused her help during the previous weeks, she really doubted that he would accept it now. And she saw no other way to keep him alive.

“Is there something else I should know?” she asked Olyvar, trying to regain her composure.

“Yes. Like you said, he looks very ill. If a maester doesn’t take care of him in a few hours, the Stranger will gladly do.”

Roslin was preventing herself to cry, for she didn’t want Olyvar to worry more about her, since he had also his own problems.

After she bid him a good night, she returned in her room. She couldn’t return in the cells, because the sun was down, and Walder forbid them to go to the prisoners at night. There was a risk, he said, that they took advantage of the small amount of light and the sleepiness of the castle’s inhabitants in order to harm whoever came to visit them. Roslin wasn’t sure his fears were founded, but she didn’t want to be harmed by a revengeful Northern.

She couldn’t eat her dinner, and couldn’t sleep at night. She tossed and tossed in the bed while her thoughts were always attracted by her husband, in spite of the efforts she made to think about something or someone else.

 

As morning came, her eyes were still open, and she had to wait for an acceptable hour before visiting Edmure. She decided to forgive him and to not let yesterday’s “conversation” bother and discourage her, so she prepared him warm clothes and another broth. As per usual, the guards let her pass.

The more she went down the stairs, the more she felt like she lost her confidence, despite her determination. Moreover, she noticed that the oubliettes were colder and more humid, which made her shiver, and she tightened her shawl around her frame.

What she saw as she arrived before the door made Roslin let fall down clothes and the bottle of broth.

Edmure was lying on the cold cell’s ground, and he wasn’t moving. His skin became very pale, and his crackled lips were becoming purple.

 _Oh Gods,_ she thought _. It happened. He’s dead, now. Because of the cold, because they gave him no blanket, because he isn’t correctly clothed, because he’s sick._

She felt so panicked and so hopeless that she began to cry, but she quickly reminded herself to stay calm. She exhaled deeply several times, and then she approached the bars, passed her slim arm through them and reached for his wrist, to check if his pulse still beat.

And it did. Roslin felt like a huge weight on her shoulders and on her chest just lifted, and she promised herself to pray the Seven later. He was moving too, but the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed was barely perceptible. Nonetheless, she was only half reassured, because her husband’s skin was burning (which was on her opinion better than icy cold, but still worrying). She put away her hand, and he didn’t move.

Roslin ran up the stairs, then to her father’s solar. If she was a little lucky, she would find her father and would convince him to heal Edmure. She opened carefully the door, and saw him talking with master Brenett. _Luck just smiled to me_ , she thought.

“Good morning Father, master Brenett.”

“Good morning Roslin” the master answered, her father ignoring her greeting.

“What did Tully do, again?” the patriarch growled.

“We have to help him! We must do something; otherwise, he’s going to die!”

“Aye, I know, but after the disastrous behavior he had yesterday – such a shame for a so-called highborn of one of the Greatest o

Houses of Westeros – I forbid to everyone who was dinning with us yesterday (she felt scolded, because it has been days since she last ate with her family and he was pointing that out) to help him, eh! Unless they want to go through the same as him. If they feel like standing together, let’s push solidarity to its end, then, eh!”

He shut up for a moment, looking at her, and she didn’t avert her eyes, even though she was deeply shocked by what he said and the tone he spoke with. According to him, what happened to Edmure seemed just, legit, earned.

“Unfortunately”, he resumed, his voice dripping with irony, “I can’t take away what I decided. Firstly, because, as the Twins’ lord and soon the Riverlord, I can’t change my mind on decisions as important as this one, or all your relatives would see in me an old, decrepit, senile, fragile man, who can be easily influenced and deposed.”

 _You are already an old, decrepit, senile, fragile man_ , a part of Roslin retorted mentally. _Look at yourself, you shake like a leaf when you move, and you spent most of your days sitting on a chair, because your legs can’t supported your weight anymore and the gout is slowly extending to all your body. And it didn’t take much to the Lannisters to get you on their side. A few bags of gold, and it was settled. Concerning the dispose, are you blind to not see that Black Walder is doing everything he can to replace you after your death, and he will undoubtedly kill his father and even you to rule over the Riverlands._

“Secondly, I won’t help him because I don’t want to. After all, what happened is entirely his responsibility, eh! If he didn’t hit us, black Walder and I, you could have lived together, happily. Maybe I would even have let you rule Riverrun for me. Consequently, neither me, nor master Brenett, nor any member of your family will help your precious lord, eh.”

Roslin remembered what Edmure yelled at her the previous day. _You have no idea how much your family disgusts me_. Currently, she felt so much hate and disgust towards her father that all she could do was to agree with what her husband said. Then she glanced at the maester, and also felt angry because of him. How could he let die a man, whose only fault had been to? Was his conscience not affected by that? Was he not feeling ashamed to let die a man, while he had promised like all the others maesters, as they were given their chains, to heal and take care of every human being?

“If you do nothing and let him die, it will be the blackfish Brynden Tully that will rule Riverrun and the Riverlands”, she said, her voice made shaky by anger and dismay.

Her father looked at her as if she just said the most stupid thing ever.

“Gods, you are really as dumb as the others! I have never said that I was going to let him die, eh! I just said that everyone I forbid to and I neither can nor must help him.”

“I am not sure to understand, Father.”

“Bloody hell! It’s not that difficult, eh! Did I forbid you to help him?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Consequently, if you correctly take care of him, eh, he isn’t gonna die. After, it’s the role, no, the duty of a wife to take care of her husband, isn’t it?”

Her eyes widened at the realization. Is he mad or senile? How I am supposed to take care of him when I know nothing about illness, and when I am alone to do that?

“May I remind you that I know absolutely nothing about medicines?” she retorted, trying to contain her anger.

“Then you’ll learn! There are some books on that subject, if I’m not mistaken, eh. Otherwise, let him die if you think you can’t applicate correctly what a book says, but don’t complain and cry, after!”

Roslin didn’t even wait for him to dismiss her, and exited the room, slamming the door after her. She took a long breath as she covered her face with her hands. Family, duty, honor, she reminded herself. Of course, she wanted to do everything she could to save him and not let him die, and she would. She just didn’t know how to proceed, because there was plenty things to do, and in a short amount of time.

_Come on, Roslin. Get a hold of yourself. Panic is never a good counsellor. What shall you do first?_

_Warm clothes. Cold is one of the worst enemies of sick people. So, yes, warm clothes come first. I will think about the rest later._

She went back in her chambers, took the warmest blanket she could find, as well as another thick one and a tunic, before running down the stairs to bring them to her husband. On the way, many people looked at her, wide-eyed, some even mocking her for acting like a servant, but she paid no mind to what they said. When she arrived at the cells, she didn’t even bother to ask the keys of the oubliettes, and opened the door by herself, using one of her hairpins.

Roslin laid the thick blanket on the floor, and then tried to carry her husband on it, which was far from being easy. He lost weight, yet he was still too heavy, or at least to her, and it took her several times to lay him totally on the blanket. Then she made him wear his tunic (which was as difficult), and covered him with the second blanket.

She went in the maester’s quarters, to find medicines. After all, searching medicines in a book, like her father suggested, and do as it told couldn’t be that difficult. Moreover, it would not go against her father’s orders if she didn’t ask the maester’s help.

Brenett didn’t seemed disturbed at all, and, if he didn’t help her in her research, he did nothing to prevent it, as he was doing his usual business. Roslin spent several hours in the maester’s quarters, to read quickly his books without tearing the fragile pages and when she thought she had found all that she needed, she copied carefully the recipes of the several medicines. As she exited the room, it was already the midafternoon.

After a quick at the gardens, where the young woman picked up everything she needed, she went to the kitchens, in order to prepare the different infusions and poultices, under the curious eyes of the cook (who would probably make of Roslin’s doing in the kitchen the main subject of the next rumors). They didn’t even lift the little finger to help her. St-John’s wort’s oil had been especially long and difficult to get, because it needed a lot of manipulations, and Roslin couldn’t help but being proud as she saw that the oil, in spite of some imperfections that could be seen in it, was good and relatively homogeneous.

She came back in the oubliettes only when night fell on the castle. Edmure hadn’t moved, he was still sleeping, lying on his stomach. She stripped him from his tunic, and began to dab his back with a cloth soaked with short thyme’s infusion, so as to clean the wounds which, due to humidity and the lack of care, neither look nor smell pleasantly. He hissed as she was doing it, and tried to move away.

“Shh. I am almost done” she told him, and he stopped moving, so she could continue.

 

 

The following days, Roslin had set up a routine. Just after she woke up, she went to fetch fresh water at the well, and Olyvar often came to help her, lifting the buckets in the kitchen, as nobody was watching. After that, she prepared some broth for her husband and the several infusions, and then she went down, in the cells. The first times, it had been a catastrophe: she had spilled water everywhere in the stairs, and she nearly fell several times, and it has taken her so much time that the guards were mocking her. On the contrary, some prisoners seemed to encourage her. She could swear that she saw the blonde knight once, as she was going up stairs, nodding his approval.

Then she made Edmure swallow some water, broth and the infusions of elder, marigold and poppy, before changing the garlic’s vinegar’s poultices and his tunic, which was usually drenched in sweat. She also soaked a cloth in fresh water that she let on his forehead, in order to lower the fever.

After that, she went to the wash house, and washed the clothes (cut in an old Olyvar’s tunic) that had been used for the poultices and her husband’s tunic, before bringing them in her room, where she was sure nobody would take them, so as to annoy her.

She went back to the cell twice more a day, a little before midday and at night, to give him broth and his medicines. Eventually, she decided to stay the whole morning in the oubliettes, taking care of her husband, nobody disturbing them. There were plenty of things to do, and she never sat when she was in the cell.

The first thing she did was to hunt down rats. The first time she saw one; she jumped in terror and almost screamed. She never saw one before, and they had the reputation of eating things very disgusting or convey illness such as the plague; therefore, she couldn’t bring herself to kill him or, even worse, look at it. The animal was advancing towards Edmure, not minding her, and as she saw him beginning to nip her husband, she decided to get herself together and to kill the animal. _Please Father from above; grant me the strength to kill that horrible thing._

She threw a morsel of bread at the rat, trying to get his attention. It worked, and now it was advancing towards her, making horrible squeaks. _Oh, Gods, what I’ve done_? She thought, panicking, covering her eyes with her hands. Without thinking, hearing the rat coming closer and closer, she crushed her shoe on the floor…and it landed on something not hard enough to be a floor. _Oh no, it’s his head!_ She realized. She felt it move under her feet, and she struggled to not vomit. Come on, you must kill him, now! She took the first thing that came under her hand (which she vaguely recognized as a bucket) and began to hit that thing repeatedly her eyes still closed. Roslin stopped only when she felt the rat had stopped to move.

Ew. The rat was dead, and she felt somehow proud of herself, but it felt too disgusting to look at. She slowly lifted her foot, and peeked at it. There was a splatter of blood on the ground and some stains on the underside of the bucket, but, to her relief, the body of the dead rat was still on the ground, and not half-hanging at her shoe. Fighting the urge to vomit, she took a cloth and slowly carried the dead rat with it. Since, she always kept two wooden stick in a cell, so as to kill the rodents. Eventually, she didn’t fear them anymore.

Roslin also kept a tweezer. She noticed his hair and his beard were infested with fleas, and she decided to remove them, one by one. It had been difficult at first, since she was afraid of the little acarids, then she said herself that if she succeeded in killing rats, she could remove those bugs without problems, and soon they were crushed one by one in a vinegar’s bowl. To decrease their number, she trimmed her beard, like she did with her brothers (before the war, before the wedding, before everything became so messed up) and cut his hair.

Roslin didn’t forget to go to the sept, like every morning, and to her daily prayers were added the ones for her husband. All that she did trying to avoid as much as possible on another Frey, which wasn’t that difficult when she tried to avoid each place where they were prone to be gathered.

The first days, the state of the Riverrun’s lord was the same, it eventually worsened. His sleep became more agitated, and he was delirious, while his fever began to rise. He even peed in his breeches, that Roslin washed without saying something (even though she was reluctant to the idea first, she did it while she kept on reminding herself that it was her duty as her wife to take care of her husband, no matter the conditions. It almost became the new subject of the Freys’ jokes). Her only consolation was that his back was healing, the wounds were not as bad as it used to, and some even already healed up.

The young woman didn’t know how to react and felt completely dismayed and lost because she had exactly followed the instructions of the maester’s books. She really hoped she didn’t make a mistake while copying the recipes…

She didn’t who could help her. Maester Brenett would pay her no mind, as well as the others Freys. The young woman thought about asking the help of her brother Willamen, who was a master at Longbow’s Hall, but she didn’t make it. On the one hand, she couldn’t send him a raven without asking Maester Brenett, which made the whole project impossible. On the other hand, Edmure would probably be already dead when the raven would come with an answer, if the bird made it to Longbow. To sum it up, Roslin had no choice but to manage.

She searched on the copies of the recipes she had, checked on the maester’s books, and she even implored the Crone’s help, but she found nothing that could help er, even a little. And she needed to act quickly, even quicklier than some days ago. After pondering the pros and the cons, Roslin decided to increase the medicines’ doses, a decision that could be as fatal as saving, and she was well aware of that.

Roslin didn’t have much leaves or flowers to make the infusions, so she was forced to go out in the garden to pick them up again, which wasn’t that easy, because the pouring rain that was lasting since weeks and the hail announcing winter began to crush the garden’s plants.

The following days, she made several times the way between her chamber and his cell, but she was so tired the evening and her feet hurt her so much that she spent the whole day at his side, in the cell, and she prepared on the morning, at the same time that the concentrated of the infusions, a snack made of bread, cheese and fruits.

Olyvar came in her room, a morning, before she left it. She wondered why her brother was here, whereas he usually waited for her near the well and not in her chamber.

“Let me help you today, Rose”, he said, his tone reflecting more an order than a proposition.

Roslin knew that her brother was one of the kindest people in the Twins, but she didn’t think he would take such a risk. It was true he already helped her by carrying the water (which she was grateful for, since her arms weren’t strong enough to carry the buckets). But it wasn’t very dangerous for him: if he got caught, he could still pretend he carried the water to the cooks. However, asking to help her more was synonym with being beaten with Black Walder (they really didn’t get along since the slap, and never had anyway), and his sister had enough witnessed the consequences of Walder’s anger on her husband, and she didn’t wish to see the same on her brother. If she was to take care of those two, she would never make it, and she would never support Edmure’s death, or Olyvar, for she knew Black Walder would not spare him, since he wasn’t the heir of some castle.

“No! I don’t want you to be injured or worse, killed, just because you helped me! Besides, I don’t need your help, I can handle that alone!”

“And you handle that so well that you began yourself to look like a dead person!” Olyvar pointed out with a cold voice. “When was the last time you saw yourself on a mirror, Roslin?”

 _My wedding night._ Since she hadn’t dared to look at her reflection another time, for Roslin knew perfectly that she would see the reflection of a betrayer, a traitress, a “hypocritical bitch”, like her husband said. And she wasn’t brave enough to face the truth.

Olyvar took the mirror that was put face down on her dressing table, and put it in front of her face.

“Look at you.”

She looked away, turning her head.

“Looked at you!” he demanded her, his voice louder.

She obeyed. Despite the fact that she just glanced from the corner of her eye, she realized that her reflections looked nothing like her wedding night’s. Her eyes were red, puffy and circled with purple because, at night, she cried more than she slept. Her hair was more tangled than often, and she lost some weight too. _My hands also changed,_ she realized, and she looked down at them. They weren’t as soft as before, due to the numerous works she did, and to which she still wasn’t used to.

“I am worried about you, Rose,” Olyvar confessed, seeming almost wounded. “I hold no grudge against Tully and have nothing against the fact that you want to help him, but you can’t do it alone anymore, for you are putting yourself into danger. Are you aware of that?”

“Leave me alone! I don’t need your help!”

When she saw the wounded and shocked look her older brother gave her, she realized that she, the shiest, most silent girl living at the Twins, who blushed when she talked even in the lowest voice, just yelled at him. She immediately regretted her lack of control.

“Sorry, Olyvar, I didn’t mean to…”

“But you did it”, he retorted dryly. “I didn’t know that you treated the only person that wants your well-being. Maybe I was born too low or maybe I am too much of a traitor for Lady Tully to accept my help.”

Olyvar didn’t let her time to apologize and exited the room, slamming the door after him. She indeed just lost her only ally in the castle. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Of course, she knew that Olyvar only want her to be happy and that he was really worried about her, but she loved him too much to beg him to help her, even though she would be ill and tired, for she didn’t want him to suffer the same as her husband.

As she arrived in Edmure’s cell, Olyvar’s sister thought she was going to cry again. His fever and his delirium were far from improving. They had never been so bad; even though she made him drink regularly concentrated poppy infusions (since she couldn’t use milk of the poppy). And she could nothing more than giving the new doses of medicines and changing more often the soaked cloth supposed to refresh him.

Then, in the beginning of the afternoon, he completely stopped talking and moving, so she thought naively that the situation was changing. But it wasn’t the case, since he was still hot as the sun was setting.

 _This is the end_ , she thought, afraid _. I can’t do more for him; he’s going to die, this night, tomorrow or the day after if I’m lucky, or if the Gods want his agony to last. And it will be my fault. I couldn’t prevent the deaths of his relatives, and I couldn’t save him, whereas it was my duty, as a wife. I couldn’t save him, although I promised myself I would keep Perwyn, Olyvar and him alive. I just failed, miserably._

And tears were rolling down her cheeks, splashing on the lord of Riverrun’s face. Eventually, his eyes fluttered open.

“Cat?” he whispered.

Startled, she lowered her gaze to meet Edmure’s, half opened. Through his lids, Roslin saw that his eyes were still shiny. She wanted to say him she wasn’t his sister, however, she couldn’t talk. All she could do was hiccupping.

“Don’t cry”, he said.

Edmure lifted his hand to brush away her tears, like he did during their wedding night. The feeling was awfully familiar and would have even been pleasant if his hand wasn’t that hot.

He suddenly stopped, looking at her, his brows furrowing, and she didn’t look away.

“I am sorry. So sorry,” he eventually murmured, before closing his eyes, and his hand fell beside him.

At that moment, the poor Roslin really thought that her husband just said his last words. Then she remembered that his hand wasn’t as burning as it was on the morning. Hesitantly, she put her hands on his cheeks, and leaned over him, placing her cheek on his forehead. They were still hot, yet not burning anymore. Finally, she noticed that his breath and his pulse were becoming normal again.

To sum it up, Roslin’s efforts and prayers hadn’t been useless, and he seemed finally out of danger.

And this time, it was tears of pure joy that fell on Edmure’s face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not forbidden to leave a comment, you know...


	11. XI. Edmure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Time for the 11th chapter! If I hadn't had to go to Paris to pass a test for college, this chapter should have been posted this week-end.

**XI EDMURE**

Sometimes he felt like he was in a black, soft, woolen cocoon.

Sometimes, he felt on the contrary very cold, and it was entering his bones.

Sometimes he felt like he was just a rag doll that the Gods changed as they wished. A rag doll that passed through different colors, and different shapes.

Sometimes, he lived his childhood again. He could smell again the water, the fresh grass, the freshly baked bread and pastries. He could hear again water running, splashes, the laughs of Cat and Lysa, their voices, Father and Uncle’s voices, septon Leopol lecturing him. He could feel again the freshness of water, the wood bricks he built castles with, his wooden swords. He could taste again wine, berrycakes, custard tarts, terrines of rabbit, cheese and delicatessen. He could see again finally, the castle of his childhood, the Godswood, the Rivers, the castle’s people, the view of the beautiful landscape from his father’s solar. Cat and Lysa’s smile, Littlefinger’s grin, and when Father smiled at him and those were his favorite memories because his father was proud of him.

Sometimes, he escaped all of this. And it felt like he was taking a frozen bath. He would open briefly his eyes, his head would spin, and his back would itched and hurt him like hell. His back hurt him. It was when tepid drinks passed through his lips. Some bitter, some sweet and slimy. He even felt twice or thrice something soft on his face. And after that, he was always getting back to the reality.

And sometimes he felt drops falling on him. For the first time. He had never felt nor seen rain since he was in this state.

 _‘Tis funny_ , he thought. _When septon Leopol talked about the seven Heavens or even the seven Hells, I didn’t even remember he talked about rain and water being there. Or maybe I am still alive after all_.

He opened his eyes, and closed them, as the light was unbearable. _Aye, definitely alive_. _And his back hurt him like after he fell from the damn elm in the Godswood. And it had rained too_ , he remembered. _Cat was also there, with Petyr, and Lysa had run to get help. Maybe she’s still here_.

Edmure forced himself to open his eyes again, but kept them half-closed.

« Cat ? » he whispered.

He slowly looked up, to better detail. There was a very feeble, red light coming from the torch that was hanging on the wall, which made her hair looked redder, but it was certainly not auburn. And her eyes were hidden by long eyelids and a curtain of hair, but they weren’t as clear as the Tullys. It was clearly a woman, but not one of his sisters. _Who is it then? A servant? And where the fuck I am?_

As he inhaled, he suddenly smelt a familiar fragrance. It didn’t belong to one of Riverrun’s inhabitants, nor to any women had he fucked. Nonetheless, he could this smell of hazelnut and flowers to something very pleasant, and very recent.

 _Oh Gods_ , he realized after a moment. _It’s Roslin_.

Then everything was clear to him. He was at the Twins. He had married Roslin Frey some weeks ago, he bedded her, then she told him that his family, the Northern and his bannermen were being slaughtered; he escaped the room and the Frey, and almost escaped the castle when he was caught by that son of bitch Black Walder, who whipped him like a butcher tenderizing his meat. And they threw Cat’s naked body on the Green Fork, put him in cells after knocking him out because he punched Old Walder (which he still didn’t regret).

He had been deprived of food and had only a worn out blanket, and she was visiting him every day, bringing him broth that he always refused. They showed him what remained of his nephew’s body. Black Walder came three times, each one with horrible news. Edmure threw shattered glass at him as he had learnt Lysa’s death, and then, he had been thrown there. The last thing he remembered was talking with Olyvar.

Another drop fell on his face, and Edmure understood that the young woman was crying. He never liked to see women weeping; it reminded him the day his mother died. He was too young to remember her face, but he remembered that everyone cried, even his uncle Brynden. Edmure also hated tears because it reminded him Lysa’s tears, before her wedding.

« Don’t cry. »

He raised his hand (which demanded a considerable effort), to wipe Roslin’s tears, and she didn’t dare to move when he did that. She only let out a soft sigh.

At that very moment, Edmure realized that she always had been in his cell as he was half conscious, and she had taken care of him. Her and not that oaf of a maester. And now, she was crying because of him, either because he was (very) soon going to die, or because he said she was a whore (he deeply and sincerely regretted to have treated her like this, especially when she was the only one that cared about him), or both reasons.

So he apologized.

« I am sorry… »

Edmure was aware that it wasn’t enough and that Roslin had the right to refuse it, since he had refused hers. Therefore he felt relieved as he saw a thin smile tug at Roslin’s lips, so relieved that he felt once more slipping in the darkness.

 

 

 

As he once more emerged, he noticed that, for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t shivering in cold. For a moment, Edmure thought he had rejoined his family. But since the seven Heavens couldn’t resemble to a humid, cramped cell, with a feeble, vacillating light, he was probably still alive.

He still felt better than he had the days before. He felt so comfortable under the blankets, despite the fact that a weigh was crushing him and preventing him to breathe. Moreover, hair were tickling his nose, making him wanting to sneeze. He inhaled and recognized the scent of his wife. Her only moves were the rise and fall of her back, showing that she was still alive. If he focused, he could even feel her heartbeats, and it was somehow soothing. _She must be really tired to fall asleep at my bedside, in a place so hostile and a position so uncomfortable_.

Edmure tried to move his arm a slowly as possible, to not wake her up, but when he saw her moving, he stilled, not wanting her to open her eyes. She stretched her arms, rubbed her neck. It looked like she suddenly remembered where she was, for she sat upright, stuttering, while her cheeks were reddening in embarrassment:

« Er…I… I am sorry, my lord! I…I didn’t want to bother you. »

He didn’t know how to answer, so he just made a sign with his hand to tell her that it wasn’t grave. Somehow reassured, she hesitated before asking him:

« May I? »

He nodded, although he didn’t know what she intended to do. She just put her deliciously cool on his cheeks, and then on his forehead, her own cheeks still flushed. Roslin was certainly checking if he was still feverish.

“Thank the Gods, you are not as feverish as you were yesterday, but I am afraid you should have some rest and take your medicines for the following days.”

“Since when am I like that?” he asked.

“I’d say fifteen days, maybe. Your fever increased at the end of the first week, and it began to only yesterday.”

She stopped, hesitating, and added in a smaller voice.

“Honestly, when you “woke up”, yesterday evening, I thought… I thought… that your last hour had come.”

That was exactly what he thought too.

He missed fifteen days of information (and even more, since the raven were sometimes very slow), and he needed to catch up. The time he had been sick, even though it could seem nothing, was enough for something important to happen.

“Is my uncle…” he began.

“For all I know, he is doing well. He made the way back to Riverrun, and he managed to turn the population against my father, who wanted to take control of the castle. Currently, my nephew Ryman and his elder son Edwyn are surrounding the castle, but hadn’t succeeded yet.”

He was delighted by those news, which made him smile. As long as his uncle was ruling Riverrun, the castle wouldn’t yield, and even less to the Freys.

“He should have been the lord of Riverrun. Him, not me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“He is doing now more for the castle and its inhabitants than I ever did,” he replied with a sarcastic tone.

She looked like she was going to retort something, but she held her tongue and began to talk about another subject.

“Father and lord Bolton managed to get almost all the Northern lords that survived the wedding on their side. Each has tried to pressure lord Reed so he would submit the Neck to the one or to the other. He refused.”

It didn’t surprise him. After all, from what he heard and saw, Howland Reed was a good friend of Ned, so there was no wonder he didn’t want the ones that killed his son as allies. Maybe there was another reason.

“Why?”

“According to what I heard, he said that as long as a Stark was alive, he wouldn’t yield the Neck.”

Edmure wondered what Howland Reed meant by “a Stark”. It couldn’t be Robb, Bran or Rickon, for they were dead, nor Sansa, who was still married to the Lannister Imp and was consequently, by the laws of Gods and men, a Lannister too. The richest house in Westeros didn’t talk much about Arya, which made Edmure suspect the disappearance or the murder of his niece, even though he never talked about it before Cat, fearing he would even more distress her.

Or maybe the marsh lord meant Ned’s little brother (whose he didn’t remember the name) and Ned’s bastard; however, it seemed to Edmure very difficult that they would quit the Night’s Watch to rule as a King, since they couldn’t do it without the King’s sealed decree. The only powerful King remaining belonging to house Lannister, it was evident that they would never do such a fault. They would rather send one of them, disguised as a volunteer, to murder them, supposing they were still alive. They could have died there, of cold, because of the wildings, or something else, and nobody beside Castle Black’s inhabitants would know. Consequently, the prisoner thought that was said Howland Reed was almost nonsensical, unless he was deprived of information Ned Stark’s old comrade had.

Although he found himself admiring, almost envying, such resistance, he wondered if Lord Reed had the means to protect his people and the escaped Northern lords, if the Freys and the Boltons decided to attack them. If not, he just hoped that the moving castle and the swamps stuffed of traps of all kinds could replace an army.

“I really wouldn’t want to be at their place if King Joffrey sees fit to skin them alive as a punishment.”

“My lord, King Joffrey is dead,” Roslin said.

“He is dead?” he repeated, abashed.

Which meant who killed him. Joffre was still a young man, and his health seemed strong, so there was no way he would have died “naturally”. _Who had been wise enough or mad enough to kill him?_

“Yes, at his own wedding, because of a poisoned pie or a poisoned glass of wine, depending on the versions. Most believe it’s the Imp that would have done it.”

So marrying now in Westeros has become too dangerous for the ones that get married, he thought bitterly. But why would have the imp killed his own nephew? Edmure remembered Sansa, who was most likely risking a beheading. She had the perfect reasons: her parents and Robb had been killed by the royal family and they made her wed the Imp, so it seemed perfectly logic that she would revenge directly on King Joffrey.

“Are there, per chance, any news from my niece Sansa? The Imp’s wife?” he asked, his voice full of apprehension.

Roslin shook sadly her head.

“Unfortunately no, my lord. I heard nothing about her, apart that she might have helped the Imp with the poison.”

He should have been happy for the Lannisters would have made sure to spread the news of Sansa’s beheading, considering she was a daughter of traitor and all that jazz. However he couldn’t help but panic. The Lannisters said nothing about Arya, still only the Seven seemed to know what happened to her.

Roslin probably felt his anguish, for she quickly said:

“But if lord Reed refuses to swear fealty to someone other than a Stark, they won’t kill her, would they? She’s the last Stark surviving, the key of the North, and they can’t afford losing her.”

She wasn’t wrong. If the Lannisters and their allies wanted to be sure to have authority on the North and the Riverlands, they needed to prevent his niece’s death and his own. _Aye, but for the moment, it seems like they don’t really give a fuck about you living or dying,_ a small voice in his head said.

Edmure reckoned bitterly that the little voice wasn’t wrong. Indeed, Roslin was the only one that was at his sides every time he “woke up”. Nobody might’ve come; otherwise she wouldn’t look so tired. He was absolutely certain that she didn’t have those big purple eyes around her eyes, nor was she so pale on their wedding night.

“And who is the King, now?”

“Tommen Baratheon. He is to marry Margaery Tyrell in a few days, or weeks.”

He knew better than to pity the young woman, who was already twice widowed, even though she couldn’t be older than Roslin. He had heard enough stories about Olenna Tyrell, and some told by lord Hoster, to know that the woman knew very well how to play the game of thrones, and Margaery was just a mean to help her reign on the Seven Kingdoms. Knowing Cersei Lannister, she was many things, but she wasn’t stupid, and must know the Tyrell’s goal, and she would probably determinate to do anything she could to counter them, including erasing some members of the great family. And the two (or three) were going to pull on Tommen, and the poor boy would more likely end like a broken doll, in the same state Lysa and Cat left a doll when they had an argument about it.

“And the new King is supporting my family and house Bolton.”

No wonder. They couldn’t let Tommen approve the death of his brother, even though he was completely mad and unwise.

Edmure remained silent, trying to assimilate what she just told him. Indeed, a lot of important events happened during those fifteen days. Then he remembered that, as Margaery and Joffrey wed on the day a New Year and a new century began, they were now in 300.

The silence broke as his stomach made a sound, demanding food. Roslin raised and he noticed her skin was somehow waxy.

“I am going to get your breakfast.”

“No! You don’t need to bother with that!”

Truly, he didn’t want her to bother with him anymore. It only made him feel more ashamed of himself, because he had acted exactly like an ingrate.

“I need to go up to get your medicines anyway. I would have liked to ask you what you like to eat for breakfast, but I’m afraid you must still be drinking broth.”

Roslin exited the cells, and she was out of his sight (but he still could heard each one of her step on the stone’s stairs) as he heard a strange, muffled sound.

“Is everything alright?” he asked her, as loud as he could, which he regretted, since his throat hurt him.

“Yes.”

However, she resumed to walk only after a pause.

 

Eventually, Edmure grew bored to wait for Roslin (who was taking too much time to his liking to get back from the kitchen). He also grew bored to stay in bed, and, judging himself healthy enough, he kicked the blankets and began to pace in the room. Soon black butterflies began to dance in front of his eyes, darkening his sight and he decided to go back to his improvised mattress, rather than collapsing and causing Roslin to worry more.

As he heard footsteps, he raised, hopeful. But he noticed that they were different than Roslin’s and a moment after, Olyvar entered the cell.

“Good morning,” he greeted him.

“Good morning.”

“You look better today. Better than you have in weeks. Makes me happy.”

“Really?” Edmure said, furrowing his brows, as he didn’t feel like suffering a second reprimands’ salvo.

“Really” Olyvar nodded. “I had never seen Roslin so fearful and so panicked. She was really afraid that you would die because of her.”

“Why?”

“She doesn’t look well, does she? Maybe she’s fallen ill, too.”

“No, not for that! Why did she was afraid I was going to die because of her?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Told me what?”

“That after you “savagely” aggressed Black Walder with the remnants of a bottle…”

“I haven’t “savagely aggressed” him”, Edmure protested, angry due to the bastard’s lack of honesty. “I just threw them at him.”

“Guess my dear grandnephew has a talent for fantasizing” Olyvar commented, his voice dripping with irony.

Edmure began to feel more sympathy towards his good brother and even pity, because he could only imagine that having such a grandnephew was like suffering the Seven Hells.

“Anyway, he revenge on Roslin.”

“What?”

He knew that Walder held grudges and was a sadistic, but not to the point of going after a young woman who clearly didn’t stand a chance against him and who had done nothing that could have angered her grandnephew. Immediately, Edmure imagined the worst, and bit his lip.

“He slapped her.”

Edmure felt like a weight has been lifted off his chest, and as he exhaled slowly in relief, he noticed that he had been holding his breath.

“Black Walder must have felt in a good day, even after visiting you, to not go further. After that he went to Father, and he forbid to everyone to feed or to help you. No, actually, he didn’t forbid it, he let us choose if we wanted to suffer the same as you or not. Except for Roslin. As she came there the following day, she immediately went to Father. She begged him to not, but he didn’t accept. So Rose had to manage on her own to heal, feed and take care of you, and also wash and change your clothes, prepare your medicines… I tried to help her, but she refused my help. For the first time, we argued, because she didn’t want me to end ion those cells too. And I didn’t insist. I regret that decision. I should have helped her. It was my duty, as a big brother, to do so.”

Edmure suddenly felt very guilty, and his stomach made a knot. On the one hand, his behavior caused Black Walder to slap her. Edmure himself, as he was younger, had been slapped several times by his father (and he reckoned that he earned most of them), but he doubted Walder’s slaps were like his father’s. _It’s not the only reason. She’s lucky he didn’t try something else with her. If only I had calculated what consequences throwing some silly pieces of glass at him would have… It’s not like I couldn’t, I knew him very well… But no, I didn’t take time to think before acting, once more. And for the cooking, the healing, and the washing… Hell, the washing! She’s a lady, for the Gods’ sake, she’s the Lady of the Riverlands! She should have never done all this chores, and even less after I acted like a jerk with her!_

“By the way, where is Roslin? Since she didn’t return yesterday evening, I assume she spent the night there. She wasn’t in her room this morning, and I checked the kitchens. I thought she would be preparing you broth or medicines, but she wasn’t there either.”

“She left just some minutes ago, for the kitchens. Maybe you met without noticing it.”

“Maybe”, Olyvar said in a doubtful tone. “I’ll see if I can help her without getting caught.”

He walked towards the door, and said to him before leaving him:

“I am sorry to tell you that, but you’ll more likely receive some visit from my family. If this damned bastard come back, try to control yourself, and not to bash him up too much if he’s pissing you off. I would like too, to settle scores with him…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, just a question that has absolutely nothing to do with this fic: am I the only one to ship Marq Piper and Myranda Royce?


	12. XII Roslin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> According to my sister (who was my beta for the original version of this fic), this chapter is cute. Quite honestly, I agree with her, and I'm pretty satisfied of it. You are free to judge =)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Sorry, it took me longer than expected, and, to make things worse, I had tons of homework (which make my holidays seem like a day at school). But hopefully, the next chapter will be updated soon.  
> It's a long chapter (>8,000 words), but I'm not sure if it's the longest. We'll see =)  
> Great news for you: the next chapters will all be at least 5,000 words (excepted for the epilogue, maybe).

XII ROSLIN

When she woke up, Roslin wasn’t in the kitchens anymore, but lying on a little, hard sofa. A quick glance enabled her to recognize the room as the maester’s, since it was filled with phials of various sizes and shapes, with different medicines and plants hanging from the ceiling to dry. Her first thought was for Edmure, who was probably still waiting in his cell, waiting for her to bring food and medicines. As she tried to sit up, a wave of nausea hit her, and she decided to lie down.

“She woke up, maester!” a voice shouted, and she identified it as her big brother’s.

She turned her face and saw Olyvar staring at her with a worried look.

“Just a minute” Brenett answered from the adjacent room, with a noise of phials.

“You should have said it to me, if you were sick. I would have helped you, I swear.”

It was true that those last days, she felt often nauseous, but this was the first time she really threw up. Moreover, she didn’t pay much attention to that, as she was worrying so much about Edmure that she couldn’t think much about something else and as she often felt sick before having her moon blood. Actually, she didn’t see it since long ago… Her eyes widened as she realized what it meant.

“Olyvar,” she whispered with a shaky voice.

“What’s going on?”

“I haven’t seen my moon blood since before my wedding”, she added.

He immediately understood what she meant.

“I heard that women could stop bleeding after an incident. And the Gods know you have seen many incidents since your wedding…” he tried to comfort her.

Roslin appreciated his effort and would have gladly answered something king, but Maester Brenett arrived at this moment.

“Olyvar told me that you threw up before collapsing. Do you remember?”

She hadn’t the strength to hold grudges towards her brother. She knew he was worrying about her, and given her weary face, she understood his concern, and knew he didn’t mean ill when he said it to the maester. Roslin nodded and he raised a hand to her forehead.

“No fever. It seems you are well, and there’s nothing to worry about, but I would like to examine you, so as to be certain.”

She felt so embarrassed she felt her cheeks burn, and undressed. Olyvar had gone to the adjacent room, so as to respect his sister’s intimacy. As she folded and put down the last piece of cloth, she was glad that the maester always had a fire burning in his rooms.

Even though she knew the maester since her birth practically, she felt even more embarrassed and very ill-at-ease when Brenett palpated her breasts and examined her private parts. After that, he told her to get dressed, and she didn’t like his too happy look, because she knew very well what it meant. He eventually told her the sentence she dreaded to hear.

“Congratulations! If all goes well, the heir to Riverrun will be born in less than eight months!”

Roslin’s blood definitely froze in her veins. Once more, when things just between Edmure and her, everything fell to pieces, and she had to begin from zero. Once more, he was in mortal danger because of her. As long as the child was a girl, everything would be alright. But if she had a boy, her husband would be killed. Why would the Freys burden themselves with a hateful and reluctant Tully when they had another one, one they could directly and easily educate and control?

“I am going to tell that wonderful news to your father! He will be surely delighted! It’s not every day you can be the grandfather of the heir of Riverrun!”

 _I’d rather say it’s not every day you can use a trueborn Tully as a muppet to rule over the Riverlands_ , a small voice in her head corrected.

The maester left the room, leaving them alone. Olyvar came back and hugged Roslin.

“I hope it will be a girl” he said. “Personally, I found Tully women more attractive than Tully men. And she must take after her father, because if she takes after her grandfather, I am afraid she will end like Tyta!”

His little sister, turned to him, eyes shining with tears and sketched a smile, moved by her brother’s attempt to comfort her.

“What do I do, now?” she asked in a tiny voice, showing her lack of assurance.

“Go to see Edmure. It’s better that he learns it from you than from our family.”

This seemed indeed the best thing to do, and the wisest. However she had neither the courage, nor the confidence to look at him straight in the eyes and to announce him the news.

“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you. He would never hit a woman with child, but if you want me to, I can go down to the cell with you.”

Yet she didn’t move.

“Rose, if you do it now, there is still a chance that things don’t turn out in a horrible way.”

“And his infusions?” she asked.

“I will take care of it” he promised. “I think I know now how to prepare them.” 

Roslin rose and walked behind Olyvar, trying to get in the cells as fast as she could. At each step, she prayed that the news hadn’t been already spread and that she found someone else in Edmure’s cell.

She felt relieved as she arrived in the last cells and saw that no one else was there. Lying on his back, on the blanket, his arms crossed behind his head, her husband seemed lost in the contemplation of the ceiling. Suddenly aware of her presence, he turned around and sat up, his eyes inquiring.

“I apologize for being late, my lord. Some unexpected events happened…”

She noticed he had narrowed his eyes, his face showing wariness, and she quickly began the explanations.

“When I was going to the kitchens, I collapsed, so Olyvar took me to the maester who said that... He said data…”

Roslin stopped. She couldn’t continue. She couldn’t find the words to tell him. No, actually, she knew exactly which words to say, but she was too afraid of what he could say, or what he could do, just because of four little words.

“Is it serious?” he asked, worry pointing in his voice.

“No it isn’t. At least not for me. Not really.”

 _Come on, Roslin, you can do it_. She took a deep breath and said the words:

“I am with child.”

At first, he was surprised, his eyes wide but still looking at her. Then he lowered his gaze and stared at his feet. He did nothing more. He didn’t show any anger, or anything of the same type or a violent reaction she expected.

“You should sit”, he eventually said, his blue eyes searching hers, some concern pointing in his voice. “You shouldn’t stand for long. It’s not good for you.”

He was pointing to the blanket next to him, and she sat down next to him, making sure to avoid his gaze, and a very awkward silence settled between them. Roslin would have liked Olyvar to come now, with the medicines and the broth, so she could busy herself and not bear anymore a silence too long. But her brother was late, which she could not blame him for, since he wasn’t as accustomed as her with medicines and everything that involved cooking.

“I am sorry, my lord,” she eventually apologized.

“For what?”

He was looking at her.

“It takes two people to make a child. If there is a fault in this, then we are both guilty.”           

Silence settled between them once more, but not for long, as Edmure decided to break it:

“I do think I am…happy? For the first time since our wedding. Maybe I am not supposed to be, but I have always wanted to have a family, even though I would have preferred to not be a hostage, nor at war.

He let out a small laugh.

“It’s really the worst time to be born in…” he added, after a sigh.

Roslin agreed totally with him on this point.           

Olyvar arrived at this moment with the medicines, the broth, some water and bread, exempting her from finding something to say to break the awkward silence.

“It has taken me a lot of time to bring this and being certain that nobody would see and denunciate me.”

Then he noticed the strange atmosphere in the cells.

“I don’t want to intrude,” he said, putting down the medicines near Roslin and he exited the jail.

Before she could beg him to stay, he was already out of her sight.

“You need to eat, my lord” she told him, giving him the broth.

She apprehended his reaction a little, because the last time she offered it to him, he refused it vehemently. This time, he took the bottle, even mumbling a “Thank you” and he even accepted a slice of bread. While he was eating, Roslin wasn’t looking at him, trying to forget her hunger. She had eaten nothing since midday before. When her stomach growled, it wasn’t possible to hide it anymore, and she blushed in embarrassment.

“Have some bread”, Edmure said, giving it to her. “You must eat for two now, and I bet you have eaten nothing today.”

“Thank you.”

Roslin took the bread and began to eat it slowly so she wouldn’t have to talk with her husband. However, even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel his eyes linger on her more than they should have.

“Done!” he said, putting the empty bottle on the floor and stirring himself.

“Now you must drink your infusions.”

As he drank it, he made a grimace that almost made her laugh.

“It’s so bitter!” he complained, once he drank them all. “I’m happy I was unconscious most of time when I drank this!”

Then he saw the flask of St-John’s wort’s oil , and asked with a wary tone:

“Must I drink that too?”

“Oh no!” She laughed a little. “I just need to oil your back with.”

Edmure laid himself on his stomach letting her oil on his back. His skin looked better than it did during the first days of his incarceration. It had a color that was normal, but the angry, red marks of the whip still remained. Roslin knew deep in her heart that they would never totally disappear, not all of them, no matter how much St-John’s wort’s oil she used, which made her heart ache. Nonetheless, she said nothing to her husband.

This evening, Roslin felt so tired when she went up the stairs that she only wanted to find her bed again and to sleep. But as she opened the doors, she saw her father sitting next to the table. She sighed.

“Good evening, Father.”

“Good evening, Roslin.”

“What do you want?” she asked, a little wary.

“To congratulate you” he answered in a false innocent tone. “About two things. First, you managed to keep Tully alive. I almost thought I needed to call Brenett, eh, but you managed on your own.”

Roslin felt anger boiling within her. So he planned from the beginning, to let the maester interfere if Edmure’s state was critic, and he let her nonetheless to manage on her own, while she had no knowledge in medicines? She had been worried, lost her sleep and collapsed, she could have even lost her child due to the pressure and the chores she had done, and it was all for naught? Why did her father seem to take so much pleasure into marginalizing and humiliating her?

She clenched her fists, and reminded herself to keep her usual appearance. Whatever happened, she couldn’t anger her father more. He would more likely not hurt her, as she was bearing the heir to Riverrun. Since Olyvar and Edmure weren’t, he would feel no shame to hurt them, which Roslin didn’t want. They already suffered enough.

“And secondly, I would like to congratulate you for your child. Personally, eh, I would have never thought that this silly Tully would manage to procreate so soon, or even to just procreate.”

This was followed by a small snicker from the old man, who seemed very happy of his little joke.

“Now, you need to be more careful, my little Roslin. Forget Tully and begin to take care of you. You don’t want to end like your mother, do you?”

The honeyed tone, as well as the mention of her mother, angered and terrified even more Roslin. The only memories she kept about her mother were a lullaby and bloody sheets, shouts, screams and wails.

Her father, holding on his cane, approached and put a hand on her belly, which hadn’t swell yet. She had a move of disgust, and only hid it because she feared how her father would react.

“If you manage to end the child’s life, eh, I won’t hesitate a second to end yours, if you still hadn’t died. Your death will be a completely failed doing, as I will marry Tully to one of your nieces or grandnieces. Even to Tyta, if she told me to, eh. So, if I was you, I would take the time to think before taking moon tea or seeing some witch, and I would ask myself whether it’s worth it, eh,” he said in a low, threatening tone.

Walder left the room on those horrific words, leaving his daughter utterly dismayed and horrified. What type of father could say such things to his daughters? _You already know the answer_ , a little voice in her head said. _The one that had enough to be looked down, and mocked. The one that dreamt of power and wealth. The one that helped the Lannisters betray a King and organize one of the biggest slaughters on Westeros._ Does he even deserve to be referred to as a father, given his last days’ behavior, that couldn’t be excused because of his advanced age?

Despite her tiredness, she couldn’t sleep, as she was tortured by fear and anger. When morning came, she went to the sept, kneeled before the Mother, and she lit a candle for Her.

_Holy Mother, many times, women implored you, because they wanted to have a son, and, in Your infinite kindness, You have made their dearest wish come true. In turn, I am begging You to grant me a daughter, so as to put an end to my husband’s days._

Then she kneeled before the statue of the Warrior, for whom she had also lit a candle, and thanked him. She felt that her prayer was clumsy and quite short, but she wasn’t used to pray this one.

_Heroic Warrior, valorous protector of all the soldiers, thank for having interceded with the Stranger and saved my husband. I will never show enough all my reconnaissance, and will remain forever grateful and Your humble servant._

When she finished praying, she exited the sept and got to the kitchens, where she met Olyvar. He was sitting on a table, and had prepared her bread with jam. Roslin was very surprised, as the jam was pretty rare at the Twins, and only the Lord could eat it when it wasn’t a celebration. The sight and the smell of it made her mouth water, and it was when she reckoned she was hungry.

“Thank you”, she said, sitting next to him and taking a piece of bread.

She took a bite, and felt much better, as the jam was raspberries’. Her favorite.

“How did you get that?” she asked, as soon as she had swallowed.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t steal it. Given that you are bearing the heir of Riverrun, they can deny you nothing. Moreover, I know that you would like it and it would cheer you up. Was I wrong?”

“Not at all,” she said, smiling, and she hugged her brother.

He insisted that she took her time to eat, and that he would meanwhile prepare the infusions and even the broth. Nonetheless she helped him (she didn’t want Olyvar’s broth to be inedible. Currently, it was almost all her husband could eat, and she wanted him to gain some strength and some weight, and both went down to the cells.

 

 

The following days, Roslin continued her visits, accompanied by her brother. At the beginning, he accompanied her because he was worried (maybe too much) about the health of his future niece or nephew, and he eventually said that Edmure was “a nice guy, once you get to know him”, to his sister’s greatest surprise, and he spent more time with the prisoner instead of moping in his chambers.

What cheered her up more than anything was to see that her efforts weren’t useless. Her husband was gaining strength quickly, and soon he could eat again meat and drink some warm wine she brought discreetly from the kitchens. In addition his body was beginning to put some weigh on, and Edmure was looking less and less like a skeleton.

One day, as the brother and the sister were going down the stairs, they crossed Brenett and one of their grandnephew, and they were both going upstairs, which Roslin didn’t interpret like a good sign. Olyvar tried to know the reason of their visit, but their grandnephew just ignored them and continued to walk.

“What did they want?” Olyvar asked as they entered his cell.

“I was about to ask you the same question” Edmure answered, his brows furrowing. “I was just told that they were going to “reiterate Seaguard’s exploit”, but I don’t see what they were talking about.”

“Are you sure they talked about “reiterating Seaguard’s exploit?”” Robb’s former squire repeated.

Riverrun’s lord nodded.

“Why? Do you know what it’s about?”

“From what I heard, our family, more precisely Black Walder, used Jason Mallister, who was jailed there as well, so as to pressure Seaguard. The town and the port are now between their hands.”

“Is he still alive?”

“I think so. There was no bloodshed, and Black Walder had the occasion to show his… talent. It wouldn’t be called an exploit otherwise. I do think that Father intend to do the same with your uncle, to make the castle yield.”

Edmure seemed at first then he snickered.

“My uncle will never yield the castle, even if they threaten me or my life. Tell your family they will be wasting their time.”

He paused for a moment and added in an ironic tone:

“They better kill me right now.”

“I don’t agree with you. They need you alive to have a claim on Riverrun, at least, until the child is born. That doesn’t exclude the possibility to torture and mutilate you. If Black Walder is in charge of the operation, I bet this is what he will do if your uncle doesn’t surrender.”

Roslin hadn’t taken part in the conversation, as she was silently listening to them as she registered mentally what had been said.

Edmure turned his head, and for a brief moment, his blue eyes met hers. She could have sworn that there was some sadness in them.

“They also said I was leaving tomorrow” he confessed, looking at one of the walls.

“Already?”

Roslin realized she just said loud her thoughts, in a voice that showed her surprise and her hurt, so she cast her eyes down. As she fought back the tears that were welling up in her eyes, she understood why Brenett was accompanying their grandnephew: he needed to check if her husband was healthy enough to endure the road to Riverrun.

“The bastards… They have wasted no time…” Olyvar summed up.

Indeed they hadn’t. _Are they out of their mind? He just healed, and is still probably weak and sick. If travels are as tiresome as it is said, then it will increase his illness, and nobody will take care of him! Why would they anyway? There will be soon a new Tully, and the Blackfish won’t resist if they are threatening a babe, boy or girl. Maybe it will be even more efficient…_

There was no way Roslin could let her father do this. She rose and removed the dust from her dress. The two men were looking at her with a strange look.

“Roslin, are you alright?”

“Yes, I just need to… use the privy.”

Olyvar gave her a puzzled brow, and then she exited the cells, walking as fast as she could towards her father’s solar, making sure that her brother wasn’t following her. She knocked on the door, and she opened it. Her father was sitting on a chair, a blanket laid on his lap, and his son Elmar was reading him something. Walder lifted his gaze, and as he saw her, said:

“You are dismissed, Elmar.”

The boy nodded, closed the book, put it on the table and left without a word.

“Why is he leaving tomorrow?” she asked, as soon as she heard the door closing, not even greeting her father.

“Because he’s healthy enough.”

“He barely recovered.”

“Breathing the fresh air of the outside will be more than benefic for him and will accelerate his recover.”

“I believe further days of rest would be better.”

“I believe that you aren’t a maester.”

“I believe I am the only one that took care of him during the past weeks, and therefore I can say more adequately what’s benefic for him or not.”

“Maybe, but the maester’s got a chain and you none.”

Roslin closed her eyes. She knew that convincing her father wouldn’t be easy, but she never imagined that it would be that difficult _. Calm down. You may have lost this, yet you still have a chance_. _Don’t show him he upset you, it will only please him._

“He hasn’t enough strength to do the travel until Riverrun. He is still too thin.”

“Better be thin than to be as obese as your half-brother Merrett and your nephew Ryman.”

“It’s too cold outside. Winter is coming, and it’s taking down first the thin people.”

“Winter is coming, aye, and it has taken down first the Starks, and the Northerners, who were said to be better prepared to it than us all.”

She bit the inside of her lip, feeling like she was losing ground to her father. However, she didn’t renounce.

“May I go, too?”

Her father was taken aback by her demand, and visibly surprised that she hadn’t renounced yet.

“I beg your pardon?”

“May I accompany my husband?” she repeated, hope pointing in her voice.

“I had understood, thank you. I am not deaf yet. But you surely aren’t serious, are you, eh?”

“Why wouldn’t I go? I am the Lady of Riverrun, and it’s my right to go to see my castle.”

“So you can vanish halfway with Tully? Ha! No, thank you, I’d like you to stay there. Moreover, it’s dangerous for a woman with child to travel. You could lose the baby, and your life.”

She was defeated, now, and she knew it. Still she asked in a small voice:

“Isn’t there another solution?”

“Unless you manage to convince the Blackfish to yield the castle, I don’t see one. You are dismissed. Call Elmar in. No, actually don’t leave. Please have a sit and resume reading where he stopped.”

At that very moment, Roslin was fighting the tears that urged to roll on her cheeks (there was no way she would cry in front of him, not after what he had done and said), and as she took the heavy book, she prevented herself from smacking it on her father’s head. She began to read in an angry tone, her voice slightly trembling.

Eventually, midday and lunch came, so her father dismissed her. Roslin went straight back to her chambers, since all she wanted was to be alone, and threw herself on the bed, spilling her tears on the pillow. Minutes later, as she had calmed herself, she heard the door open. Someone approached the bed, and she faked sleeping.

“Roslin?”

It was Olyvar’s voice. Roslin suddenly felt guilty. He was probably worried, because she lied to them, and she had spent far too much time without telling them. He put a finger on her neck, to check if her pulse was still beating, and she didn’t move. Eventually, he sighed, and exited the room, and soon she drifted into sleep.

Alas she didn’t rest long. In her sleep, she heard the doors open, and loud voices finished to wake her up completely. As Roslin opened her eyes, the first person she saw was the grandnephew she had seen earlier. He was accompanied by some soldiers and Edmure.

“What’s going on?” she asked, sitting upright, feeling ashamed that they found her still sleeping. She hoped her eyes weren’t puffy and her hair not too tangled.

“Since you’re spending your time in the cells, Great grandfather thought that Tully had to pay back, and be the one to come there. Besides, he’s leaving tomorrow, and it would be a pity if you couldn’t spend some time together nor enjoy your last night together before he leaves. Leave him there,” her grandnephew said with a grin.

“It feels weird to return there” Edmure noticed, once the Freys were gone.

“Would you like to take a bath, my lord?” Roslin asked, so as to avoid an unpleasant silence.

“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t know if it’s worth it. It takes almost three weeks to get to Riverrun, and I’m pretty sure we’ll make half the trip under pouring rain an.”

“I don’t know if they’ll let you take one at Riverrun.”

She didn’t want to sound pessimistic, but it was more likely what was going to happen.

“You’re right. I’ll think I’ll have one, after all.”

She immediately exited the room, asking the servants to fetch water for a bath, without telling who was going to bath, since she didn’t know if her father had also forbidden the castle’s inhabitants to let him wash. A long hour after, was filled with hot water, which was, unfortunately, lavender fragranced. However, her husband didn’t complain and silently took his clothes off, as she turned away. Then he walked in the basin and sighed in relief when he was completely immerged.

Rather than looking at him (she still felt embarrassed when she saw him naked, even though she had taken care of him during weeks), Roslin sat on the windowsill took her lute, tuned it and began to play. She resumed playing since Edmure was getting better, and it felt like the notes were coming out the instrument naturally.

As she asked herself which ballad she could play next, she noticed he was staring at her. Reminding the “floppy fish” story, and she quickly apologized:

“I’m sorry, my lord. I should have asked you before playing.”

Roslin was putting her instrument down when he said to her:

“You weren’t disturbing me at all, I guarantee. You play very well.”

It was the first compliment he did to her since their wedding night, so she interpreted it as true, and felt proud and embarrassed.

“Thank you.”

Since she didn’t take her lute, he inquired:

“Why did you stop?”

“Because I thought I was bothering you. I have understood that you didn’t like music. Moreover, the ballad was at its end.”

“Then play another.”

Roslin chose a happier song. Edmure rested his head on the basin’s edge and closed his eyes. He seemed so relaxed and to feel so good, that he looked younger and healthier, which made her smile. She decided she should enjoy the moment, because in some months, her stomach would be more likely too big to enable to still plate lute.

When she raised her head again, to ask him if he wanted her to play a particular song, she didn’t see him in the basin. _Where is he?_ she wondered, having a look around the room. As she saw there was no trace of water and he wasn’t there, she panicked. _He killed himself. He drowned, instead of being used by my family against his. He drowned because he had enough to be treated like that. I can’t let him do that. I have to save him. He will never go to the Seven Heavens if he kills himself._

She almost threw her lute on the ground, and ran to the basin, tears welling in her eyes. Then she put her hand in the muddy water, trying to find his arm so as to pull his whole body to the surface. But instead, she felt something gripping her wrist and squeezing it, and then Edmure’s upper body emerged from the water. He had a wary expression that softened as he saw her. He immediately released her wrist, pulling his hand under the water.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, tears rolling down her cheeks.

She wasn’t sure if he would answer her, but she had to know. Edmure seemed uncomfortable, seeing her crying.

“I didn’t want to kill myself. I won’t let your family have that pleasure. I just… it felt better underwater. Reminds me of my childhood, when we swam in the Red Fork, Cat, Lysa and Littlefinger. I miss swimming, you know…”

Roslin suddenly felt stupid for asking and for crying, so she tried to stop crying. She felt his hand holding her one more time, but more gently:

“Look, I didn’t want you to be upset or worried. I swear by the Old Gods and the New I didn’t intend that.”

“I… I understand.”

She yanked back her arm, and turned around, weeping her eyes with her sleeve.

“Roslin?”

“Yes?” she answered, not daring to face him already.

“May I ask you a favor?”

“You may”, she said, after taking a moment to think about it.

“Could you help me wash my back, please?”

She turned around and nodded. She rolled up her sleeves, grabbed the cloth and began to rub his back with.

 

When the water became cold, Edmure stepped out the basin, Roslin having gone back to the windowsill, playing other ballads. Before putting on a new tunic, he took a look at the reflection of his back in the mirror. Edmure didn’t say a word. His back still showed some thin white or pink stripes, but it was far better than some weeks ago. It didn’t look so bad when you know that it had been healed by a person who had never healed before.

Servants came, bringing food to her, a morsel of roast (the best one, one couldn’t give whatever morsel to the Riverlady especially when she was with child), with fried onions and mushrooms, fresh baked bread with nuts, wine and honey cakes (her favorite). Their eyes widened as they saw her husband half naked, but they said nothing and took the basin outside the room, spilling some water on the ground.

They ate in silence and, once they were full and the empty plates were taken away by the servants, Edmure lie on his back on the mattress and let out a sigh of contentment.

“It will be hard to eat camp food tomorrow. Unless they accidentally “forget” to feed me.”

Then he noticed that Roslin was going to leave the room. He propped on his elbows and asked, surprised:

“Where are you going?”

“To Olyvar.”

“Why?”

“I thought you would like to sleep alone, because it’s the last time before long that you have a comfortable one.”

“You don’t have to disturb yourself or him just for that!”

Roslin found it cute that he thought of her before himself. He wouldn’t have said that a few weeks ago.

“We are both used to it. When I was younger and there was a lightning, I always went to sleep with him. Moreover, I won’t be disturbing him. Usually, he shares a room with Perwyn, but he still didn’t return, so I am going to sleep in his bed.”

“But you don’t have to leave the room! You are with child, and it’s you that should sleep on a comfortable bed, not me! A blanket on the floor will suit me fine.”

“No! You already slept like that during weeks, and you’ll have three weeks to sleep on the floor if it pleases you, and I don’t want you to deprive yourself of some comfort before an exhausting travel.”

She realized too late that she used a demanding tone, and felt ashamed because of that.

“Then tell me where is Olyvar’s …”

“They will never let you join him, let alone wander alone in the castle’s corridors”, she cut him. “They don’t want you to revolt once more. Besides, it will probably lead to rumors concerning a possible, err, relation, between my brother and you.”

She had said the last words with blushing cheeks. Oh Gods, am I really saying that? She saw him roll his eyes before reconsidering the situation.

“Let’s sleep together, then. I think there is enough place so we can sleep without bothering each other, unless you are a wriggling one.”

“A wriggling one?” Roslin repeated without understanding.

Amongst all the adjectives that she could be given, this one was with no doubt the one that fitted her the less. She was so shy and so silent she didn’t move much. The only time she was when during their wedding night and she felt her cheeks became red again. Seeing she didn’t understand, he explained:

“It’s when you move a lot while sleeping. Cat was a wriggling one. Moreover, she took all the cover and always had frozen feet. She even snored sometimes.”

“Is that so?”

She was almost shocked by those revelations. She would have never thought that Catelyn Stark, who was to her the very image of the lady, would behave like this when she was younger. _I can’t even think of her of a young lady_ , Roslin realized. _She behaved like she was a lady since her birth and looked so noble and so beautiful, in spite of her age and the death of her husband_ _._

Having no more arguments or solutions to propose, she agreed to sleep with him. After wearing her sleeping shift, braiding her hair and blowing out the candles, she laid down without saying a word, as far from him as she could.

 

 

She shouldn’t have slept earlier this day. Roslin felt absolutely not tired, and in spite of her will to sleep and the lack of light, she couldn’t close the eye. Neither could her husband. Even though she had her back turned to him, even though she didn’t feel him move too much, his breath was a little too quick to be a sleeping man’s. She supposed he apprehended the coming trip. _I would too. Only the Gods know in which state Riverrun will be by the time he reaches it, and how long the siege will last_. _I can only imagine what it could be, to have the castle that is yours by blood’s right, the place you grew in and that is filled with pleasant memories, to be damaged and occupied by the family you hate the most on all Westeros_.

Eventually, he turned around, and whispered:

“Roslin?”

His hot breath on her neck made her cheeks blush.

“Yes? Is there something you need?”

“No. I just… I just…”

She heard him sigh in frustration, then take a deep breath:

“You know, when we were still in the cells and I was still sick… I did say “I am sorry”, didn’t I?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I meant it. I knew that you were by my side, and I realized what it meant for you and for your family. I realized I acted like a complete moron. I am sorry I frightened you earlier. I am sorry I treated you like shit. I am sorry to have humiliated you in front of the other prisoners. I am sorry to have caused you nothing but trouble, bother, and running through the Twins several times a day to heal, whereas you could have lost the child. And most of all, I am sorry to have said you were a hypocritical bitch. Once more I spoke without thinking, and I swear by the Old Gods and the News I never meant it. You don’t deserve to be called like that. You are worthier than your whole family, excepted Olyvar. And you are without doubt one of the most courageous and deserving women I know.”

He paused, before asking, hope tainting his voice:

“I am aware that apologizes may be not enough for you to indulge my behavior, but will you forgive me?”

Roslin wasn’t expecting it at all. She didn’t hold grudges against him for long (actually, she never did), but she would have never dared, even I her dreams, imagine that he would apologize to her sincerely. He did it! He doesn’t hate me! He doesn’t hate me! She felt so happy and so relieved that she broke into a sob, without turning around to face him. She just couldn’t look at him in the eyes with such an expression.

Eventually, he became worried as he saw her shaking and sobbing, so he sat up and bent over her, to check if everything was alright.

“Roslin, are you feeling well?”

“I forgave you long ago, my lord,” she confessed between two sobs, her voice shaking.

She wept her eyes and her nose with her sleeping shift’s sleeve (a very unladylike gesture!). She turned around so she could face her husband. He reached for her hand and briefly pressed it. Nonetheless, Roslin was fighting back tears.

“Thank you”, he whispered, before releasing her hand.

His voice seemed lighter, like he just freed himself of a heavy weight. None of them talked for a moment, but they didn’t go back to sleep either. Edmure broke once again the silence.

“Although I didn’t imagine my return to Riverrun under those circumstances, I must confess that a part of me is happy to get back there. When I was younger, my father said to me he would feel very honored the day I would show the castle to the woman that will rule it by my side.”

_From where he rests now, will he still feel honored to see that his only son shows the castle to a woman whose family killed his daughter and his grandson? A family he always despised?_

“Mayhaps you will show it to me someday,” she said softly, understanding that he feared to show it to her. “I look forward to it. It will be the first time I leave the castle.”

He turned around and looked at her, incredulous.

“You’re not being serious!”

“I am.”

“Have you never left the castle to visit your family?”

“Almost all my family lives here, at the Twins,” she reminded him. “Why would I need to go out the castle?”

“True, I forgot that. He didn’t even let you gown to town, when there was a funfair?”

“Never. All the celebrations I’ve witnessed were there. Father often invites musicians and beasts trainers. I have known nothing but those walls, and the sight from the window or on top of the towers’.”

“Doesn’t look like the perfect place to grow up.”

“It was really not that terrible. The only inconvenient is boredom. Sometimes, the lack of privacy too is annoying.”

They remained silent once more.

“Could you describe me Riverrun?” Roslin eventually asked, her heart beating very fast and her cheeks burning so much she was glad he couldn’t see them due to the lack of light.

He didn’t say a word for a moment, seemingly surprised, then he described her the castle, every stone and every corner of it. He told her about all the castle’s inhabitants, and dozens of anecdotes, each one funnier than the other, like the time he fell from the elm in the Godswood while he was playing hide and seek with Cat, Lysa and Littlefinger, or the multiple schemes he invented so as to not bear the maester’s lessons, the septa’s remonstrance or the septon’s sermons.

Roslin noticed that for the first time in weeks he smiled naturally, and it could be heard in his voice. He made her laugh, and she noticed too this was the first time she and Edmure (who eventually began to laugh) did in weeks and it felt so good. It felt almost like nothing had happened. _If I had told them about the wedding and if the Northerners and Riverlanders had beaten the Freys, would my life as a wedded woman be like that_? She wondered. And she suddenly felt a pang of regret that was even more painful than the others, so much it made her want to cry again.

“Your turn, now.”

“Are you sure you want to hear about the castle?”

“Hmmm… Not really. But you could talk of you. You could talk of everything.”

“Nothing happened in the castle, until you came there.”

“And you say that life is not that terrible there? I doubt you even enjoyed yourselves, Olyvar and you. Have you actually laughed once?”

“Plenty of times. Like at my father’s last wedding. Nobody liked Joyeuse, and no one do, so they tried to sabotage her wedding, in the sept.”

Roslin felt him stiffen.

“Don’t tell me blood had been shed?”

“No, not at all! The boys just brought two goats and five ducks in, but they also began to attack us. It was chaos. Several women collapsed, everybody was shouting, and a goat almost swallowed the septon’s prism.”

“Indeed, it isn’t as gloomy as I thought it would be,” he confessed, and she could hear the smile in his voice, which made her smile in turn. “I should have done that for Lysa’s wedding.”

They paused, and then he asked again:

“You do really have a talent for music. You even play better than Cat ever did.”

Roslin felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and she was glad it was too dark for him to notice. She wasn’t comfortable with compliments, and she assumed being compared with Cat was really a big compliment.

“Does your family know you can play like this?”

“They do. They make me play at every wedding or birth.”

“…”

“…”

“How did you learn to play?”

“Father’s seventh wife Annara Farring brought with her a septa, septa Columbine. To me, she was like a mother. Maybe she was too strict, but I learnt a lot from her. She was the one that took in charge my religious education, taught me how to write and read, and she was also taught me how to play music, since I was four. Septa Columbine was also a music player, far better than I am, but she would always say I had a talent for music, and it was a Seven’s gift.”

She closed her eyes, and pictured septa Columbine behind her, showing her how to place her fingers on the lute’s handle, how to tug at the strings, how to play clear and fluid notes. She remembered the smile that grew on the septa’s face each time she played a song perfectly, a smile that made her happy and proud, a smile showing that someone in the castle actually cared about her. She remembered the scent of the lute Father gave her, shortly after he heard her play with septa Columbine, a smell of fresh wood and polish, and how she felt proud that her talent had been acknowledged by her father and thus by her family. It was one of the few times her father ever complimented her, not considering her merely as another useless daughter.

“I didn’t see her yet, I think. What happened to her?”

“She died of chickenpox, at the same time as lady Farring. It was seven years ago. Father hired no more septa since.”

He remained silent for a moment, not knowing what to say.

“Do you play only lute?”

“No. Actually, lute is quite complicated to learn. I began to play flute, and then the fiddle. I do play some viol, too. I play lute since I’m nine, and it’s quite honestly my favorite instrument, and the one I’m better at.”

“Whoa… All of that? I bet she taught you how to sing.”

“Yes.”

“Do you sing?”

“No. Tyta, Alyx, Fair Walda and the other women do. Fat Walda, lord Bolton’s wife, used to sing, too. She had a good voice. When she was still living there, we used to spend a lot of time together, she would sing and I would play. She always tried to coax me to sing but I refused.”

“Why don’t you sing? You don’t seem to have a bad voice, or to sing out of tune.”

“It’s not that, my lord. It’s far more embarrassing to sing than to play music. I turn beet root red and all I can do is stutter and mumbling words. When I play music, all I have to do is to focus on the notes.”

“I see. Do your brothers play music too?”

“No, Father forbade them. He said it was for girls, and one of the only things they are good at.”

“Did your father actually care about his children?”

“Of some, yes. I guess it’s hard to care about all your children when you have thirty natural children and seven bastards, nine daughters and twenty-eight sons.”

“Your father had thirty seven children?”

“No, actually, I made a mistake.”

“I knew it was impossible to have so many children…”

“In a few months, thirty eight. If the rumors are true, lady Joyeuse will birth another child soon.”

“Wow! Thirty-eight? Even King Robert didn’t father so many children! Are they all his, really?”

She paused and whispered:

“Some people say that Father’s last children, and among them Joyeuse’s babe, are in fact Black Walder’s children.”

Roslin immediately regretted what she had said. She didn’t mean to remind him the one that whipped him until he looked like a piece of raw meat sold by a butcher.

“Excuse me if I seem curious, but your family relations are a bit confused to me. Is Black Walder your grandnephew, really?”

She nodded.

“So Ryman is your nephew?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“Have you got enemies in your family?”

She shook her head.

“None that I can think of.”

“Beware of the girls. I know you may spend a lot of time with your grandnieces Walda and Alys, but you will be getting more attention than they ever were, and it can create jealousy. Especially from that lady Joyeuse. If what you said is true, then she must be counting on her pregnancy to get more attention from your father, so their child will take his place as lord of the Crossing when he will die. And never, never trust Black Walder.”

“I already knew that.”

“Don’t do like me. Always take some time to think about the consequences of what you will do or what you will say. I really don’t want to hear you ended up in the cells nor the Stranger called you to him.”

Roslin was so moved by his concern she thought she would cry.

“Do you know how to swim?”

“No. As I said, we weren’t allowed to go outside the castle’s walls.”

Although she couldn’t see, she could have sworn he had been rolling his eyes.

“And you tell me you had some pleasant moments there?” he replied, as if he was grounding her, but she could hear a smirk in his voice. “Personally, I don’t think I would have born this interdiction. Most of my best memories are related to swimming. Hell, I think I even learnt to swim before walking!”

She laughed, and he continued, clearly smiling:

“When we’ll be at Riverrun, I’ll teach you how to swim.”

“We will be reunited together at Riverrun?” she repeated, founding her voice too full of hope.

“Maybe, if the Seven are good. Maybe Stannis will take the Lannisters down. Maybe the dragon queen Targaryen will come. Lots of things can happen.”

Roslin silently nodded, weeping her eyes. Oh, she wanted to be as optimistic as he was!

“Please, tell me more of Riverrun,” she pleaded.

“I already told you everything there is to know about it.”

“Then tell me everything you know about the Riverlands, or the places you have been.”

 

 

 

When morning came, Roslin helped him to prepare for the trip (but Edmure forbid her to help him with his luggage) and she accompanied him in the yard, where they found some soldiers (and among them, Roslin’s grandnephew), Olyvar and Walton. He had to oversee the departure since lord Walder seemed to have other concerns. Fortunately, Black Walder wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen him for days, and frankly, she was doing fine without seeing his face.

The time for farewells was rather weird. On the one hand, he went to talk to Olyvar before talking to her, and she couldn’t know the subject they were speaking about. On the other hand, none of them knew how to say goodbye to the other without embarrassing the other. Eventually, he hugged her, catching her off guard. Roslin hoped nobody noticed her cheeks were turning crimson. Although it didn’t last very long, she really appreciated the feeling of them being so close, a closeness they hadn’t shared since their wedding night. She also inhaled her husband’s smell, smiling to herself, but also felt a lump forming in her throat, while tears were forming at the corner of her eyes.

“Take care of you, my lord” she said, as they parted.

She wanted to cry, and did all she could to prevent tears from rolling down her cheeks, and her voice to shake.

“Don’t worry for me,” he replied, grinning widely. “And take care of you two,” he added, his hand shyly resting on her stomach.

The soldiers shouted their impatience. Edmure removed his hand and his horse. After a last sign of the hand and a last smile, they departed.

Walton got back inside, not wanting to spend another minutes outside due to the cold, but Olyvar and Roslin stayed, even going outside the castle to follow the men. The last thing she saw of her husband, through her eyes blurred with tears (eventually, she broke up in tears, despite her efforts to prevent it), was his red and blue cloak floating in the wind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any remark/critic/rotten tomato/beheading/flower's crown?


	13. XIII. Edmure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter with more than 8,000 words!  
> Reminder: the quotes in bold are not mine; they are taken from GRRM's AFFC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!  
> I see there are more people who are reading this fic and let me know it. Well, I must confess that, at new Kudo or comment, I can't help but dance around the house. So thank you for your support!  
> Unfortunately, I am afraid I won't be able to update in the coming month. First, the coming chapters are at least 5,000 words. You know, it's not that easy to translate a long work, even when you're the one that wrote it, because grammar and other stuffs are on some points completely different between French and English, and you have to keep the sense of the previous text. Sometimes, I end up with a scene whose litteral translation ahs nothing to do with the French version. Secondly, I won't have much time this month, thanks to school. I will soon graduate from high school, and I will pass oral tests in English, German, Arabic and Latine. Moreover, I have an appointment in one (maybe two, I still doesn't know) of the few colleges that propose the studies I am interested in, and I must prepare it (it's in German). Not to mention I have also a competition in gymnastics. Thirdly, I have other projects for the end of this month, so you will see ;)
> 
> Enough with talking. Here's the thirteenth chapter!

**XIII EDMURE**

It took them twenty one days to arrive to Riverrun, and each one was even more boring than the other. They travelled under a pouring rain worse than when Edmure went to the Twins to meet his betrothed, and thus, they always ended soaked, whatever they did. Moreover, they felt even colder because of the wind, a cold wind, a wind so strong it could dehorn bulls. Edmure only found respite at night, because they slept under a kind of awning that stopped undeniably the howling wind, but let some drops fall on the sleeping travelers’ face.

On those nights, he often remembered Roslin’s words. _You’ll have three weeks to sleep on the floor if it pleases you_. It always made him smile, because she said it spontaneously, without thinking of it, and yet it was so terribly true. The ground was only mud, and they would sleep on a mattress made of dead leaves, and Edmure often wondered, as he saw how dirty the soldiers were, if it would actually make a difference if they slept directly on the mud. He couldn’t stand the feeling of humid matter on his skin, let alone when it dried and began to crack, itching his skin, so each morning, he took a dip in the nearest river or pond. Meanwhile the Freys, who made sure he would never escape, were looking at him wide eyed. It was true, the water was icy cold, and it took several moments to immerge himself completely; however it woke him up totally and reactivate the circulation of his blood.

Edmure wondered if the Freys knew how to swim. Seemingly, they didn’t, because they were doing fine, just staying on the bank. Anyway, it was clear that old Walder would have never taught his children or grandchildren. Hoster Tully and the decrepit man were two drastically opposed figures of father, and he knew for sure that the Lord of the Crossing, even in his “youth”, would have never taken the children to the Green Fork to teach them how to swim by a sunny day.

He thought a lot about Roslin, and their unborn child. Edmure hoped that her family wasn’t trying to make things more difficult than they were. It was hard to admit, but he worried a lot about them, although he asked Olyvar (who was really a good guy) before his departure to take care of them. He also found himself regretting more often than he should the broth she prepared him, because it was way better than the vile gruel they were given, a gruel that never filled their stomach. Consequently, he was eating some hazelnuts and acorns that were still hanging from the trees’ branches.

When they arrived at Riverrun, on the morning of the twenty second day, his heart was welling with joy. Edmure felt so happy to see again the triangular frame of the castle, with no corner that he didn’t know as well as he knew the back of his hand. He even smiled widely when he saw that, on top of the towers, were floating the red and blue banners adorned with a silver trout as well as the Stark’s grey direwolf.

Nonetheless his happiness quickly turned into a deep resentment. All around his castle, the horrible Freys banners were floating everywhere, and the gloomy, blue twin towers were taunting him. He reminded himself that, if he would die nearby, to not let those banners nor a Frey be his last view. Theoretically, Edmure wouldn’t die, since the Freys brought him there so they could use him to put pressure on the Blackfish, and have the castle, but it wasn’t impossible, coming from this wicked family. _Though, I am curious to see what they will do to convince uncle_ , he wondered.

He found an answer as the troop stopped before gallows standing in front of Riverrun’s door on the Tumblestone. Some moments later, Ryman, drunk as per usual, went to meet them. _No wonder they hadn’t taken the castle yet, if he’s the one that leads the attack_ , Edmure thought, preventing himself from smiling. _And they won’t before a long, long time._

« You, » he said to him, his breath reeking of wine and fried onions, “on the gallows, _now_.”

He was stripped from his clothes, and had nothing on than a red and blue tunic, and he was hauled on the gallows, even though he was struggling against the soldiers. Ryman himself put the noose around his neck. The hemp rope was stretched enough so he wouldn’t die (but, _hells_ , it _hurt_ even when he was just swallowing his saliva!) and so his uncle, seeing the scene from the castle, would believe that indeed his nephew would be hanged.

But he knew, and he knew that the Freys and his uncle knew that killing him would do them no good, risking a rebellion of the whole Riverlands. If they ended his days, that would mean that, until his child was born, Brynden would lead the Riverlands, and the Riverlords would never bend the knee to the Freys if their leader was the Blackfish. So Edmure didn’t understand why they made a threat so empty… _Unless they want to get rid of you, actually_ , whispered a voice in his head.

As he heard several soldiers snicker or laugh, he turned his face as much as this damn rope let him to see Ryman mounting his horse, and it was so ridiculous, Edmure wanted to laugh, but he smiled instead, laughing not being an option with the noose. _I’ll bet that I’ll die on these gallows, but not because they hanged me. No. I will die because I laughed so hard because of Ryman that the noose strangled me_ , he thought, amused, as Ryman advanced towards the castle’s door so as to negotiate with the old knight. _Has anyone died before, because they laughed? Nah, I don’t think so. Guess I’ll be the first one then._

“Hey Tully! How much time do you think your uncle will need to get Ryman back at his place?” asked a soldier.

Even though his tone was the joke’s, Edmure hesitated before answering. He didn’t want to be inflicted a punishment he deemed unfair just because he had mocked the camp’s commander. Then he realized that even the Freys thought they were hallucinating when they were told he would be directing the attack, and thus, they would deny him all due respect. But how to respect a drunk man? Edmure couldn’t help but think to the Usurper, Robert Baratheon, who was most of time drunk (or at least, this was the impression he kept when he went to King’s Landing to visit Lysa), and yet, in his youth, he had shown impressive qualities as a soldier and a leader, whereas the Frey totally lacked of it, unless it was well hidden.

“If he lasts more than ten seconds, it will be the sign that my uncle is having a bad day.”

“We’ll see,” said the soldier, a smile tugging at his lips.

After many meanderings, Ryman finally arrived before the castle’s doors.

“Hey, you hidden coward! We brought you your nephew! Enjoy the view before we sew him a trout at the place of his head or between his legs when he’s still live!”

Some months before, Edmure would have probably found the idea very hilarious and would have laughed his ass out, but since the last weeks and given the Freys seemed serious, it didn’t seem funny anymore.

However, Brynden didn’t show up, which Edmure knew to be a sign of his deep despise. This lead Ryman to make a salvo of threats each one emptier than the other, not without humiliating himself in the process. Frankly, the prisoner didn’t know what was on old Walder Frey’s mind when he assigned such responsibilities to Ryman. Hells, on top of not being credible to his enemies, he wasn’t even credible to the soldiers he was supposed to lead! Maybe that the lord of Crossing, whose gift were always poisoned (as he experienced it some weeks ago) just wanted to get rid of an heir uselessly and excessively cumbersome.

A figure eventually appeared on top of the castle’s walls, holding a long bow. Edmure heard then his uncle’s voice, which made him feel better:

“I will not waste fair words on foul men.”

Although, is intervention was very brief, one could clearly hear all the despise and the hatred he had against the Freys. Then the Blackfish shot his arrow, which landed in the croup of the drunk man’s mount. The horse neighed, reared up and the so-called fell in the mud, all four legs up in the air. Too bad he couldn’t see the mud suited him perfectly and was more than worthy for him. The whole camp immediately roared with laughter and Edmure too, proud of his uncle’s riposte.

The soldier told him between two laughs:

“He should have killed him; it wouldn’t have been a great loss. »

 _For you, no_ , thought Edmure. _It would have you gotten rid of an incompetent leader and given in the same time a credible excuse to stop all negotiations and to annihilate the castle._

“I even think we could have a small feast, and maybe we could invite your uncle…”

Better they didn’t. Edmure currently had a very clear idea of the meanings the words “invitation” and “guest” had in the Frey family.

When Ryman came back, boiling of rage, zigzagging, all covered in mud and completely humiliated in front of thousands men, he went straight to the gallows and Edmure. _Oh oh. Looks like the idiot wants revenge for a humiliation he had done himself._

“A sword! Bring me a sword, so I can slice the head of this useless thing!” he bellowed.

Edmure wondered which one was the most useless and the worst strategist, and decided that Ryman was.

A solider snickered in an almost inaudible voice that they didn’t receive words to kill him, and that Ryman was too drunk anyway to wield a sword and he would never hurt him, and would rather hurt himself. Nonetheless, Edmure wasn’t so confident and was keen to think the contrary. He was thinking about a slow and painful death, given the drunken state of the commander, which would never enable him to cut his neck in one strike. Ryman would more likely hit him several times before he would be fully beheaded.

“Leave him.”

The order came from a blonde man, with a long beard and a mustache. His hair was so long it looked ridiculous. His hazel eyes were and his features showed clearly the man was a Lannister. Here is the true commander of the battle, Edmure thought.

The arrival of the Lannister also confirmed a suspicion he had. In his wedding, there was more than the Frey’s will to get a revenge for a so-called offense. They were sustained by the Lannisters, for the Seven’s sake! They were at their sides from the moment Robb had married the Westerling girl, and maybe even before that! Suddenly, Edmure felt twice more hatred towards the Freys and the Lannisters.

“But his son of a bitch of an uncle refuse to surrender!” retorted Ryman, stuttering due to his anger, his face all red and his chops moving uncontrollably.

“Because you pulled the wrong string,” answered the Lannister.

Ha had spoken calmly, like Brynden, and his voice was dripping with exasperation. Edmure was laughing interiorly. It would help him pass time to see how much time the blonde could bear the drunkard before he would finally do something, which he couldn’t do without causing a wave of protestation by the Freys and without the two armies and houses kicking the crap out of each other.

“We can still lead the Blackfish to surrender. But if you kill his only family, we’ll have no way to negotiate.”

“Of course we’ll have! There is still Roslin’s child!” said a soldier.

Edmure, thanks to Roslin who had explained him the very complex relations inside of her family, identified him as being Edwyn, Ryman’s son. _Touch just one hair of my child,_ he thought, shooting him a deadly glance, _and I won’t hold myself anymore. I’ll show what it costs to not be wary of the water, even when it seems calm._

This revelation made the Lannister curious, and he showed a sincerely surprised expression. Your acting is not bad, Lannister.

“Is it true?” the blonde asked, turning towards him.

 _In your opinion? You think the weasel would hide that his daughter will birth a Tully heir soon?_ He answered nothing, just watching. He saw the expression on the Westerman’s face change, and he faced the Freys, his face shining with anger.

“And may I know why I wasn’t told of this sooner?” he asked in a glacial tone, eyeing the soldiers.

 _You are absolutely not in deep shit_. Let’s see. Which excuse they would tell him, without making him angrier than he already was? It was quite to see that the two armies, supposed to be allied, weren’t sharing everything, like it was the case with information. ‘Twas also funnier to see that the Freys suddenly seemed very absorbed by the contemplation of their muddy boots, or the grey, cloudy sky, or the person who was at their sides. _If they intend to take the castle with such an organization, they are most likely to get Tywin Lannister back to life with a dance!_

“Lord Grandfather didn’t tell us to do so” said Ryman.

“And it was because old Walder didn’t tell you that he sent you there to take the castle that you spend your days with a flask of wine and whores?”

The Lannister seemed very angry now. A soldier tried to defend the drunk man saying that it was better to wait until a woman was pregnant of three moons before rejoicing and spreading the news, because a miscarriage could happen quickly during this period, but the knight, exasperated, wasn’t listening to him anymore and had his attention back on Edmure.

“And you, why did you said nothing?”

“With all due respect, you didn’t ask me to. I just arrived in the camp this morning, you know. And it’s quite difficult to write a letter when you’ve been thrown in the cramped cells of the Twins. Oh, and I doubt my private life interests anyone here.”

The Lannister seemed either on the verge of slapping him, or to pluck each hair and his whole beard. He remained silent for a moment and asked:

“And what if I am interested? Would my lord prisoner deign to explain me his fatherhood?”

“I thought you knew how children were made, but since it seemingly isn’t the case, I will explain it again.

He couldn’t resist to do some humor, and he was well aware that all the soldiers surrounding him were laughing, some hiding themselves, others roaring. Moreover, since his humor was deeply pissing Daven off, he killed two birds with a stone, and felt a revengeful pleasure to see him ready to burst.

“First, you absolutely need a man and a woman…”

“Don’t play to the dumber!” he warned him, raising his finger and furrowing his brows. “When did that happened? During or after the wedding?”         

And they were asking him to not play the dumber. Frankly. To them ‘twas like if he could accept to sleep again with Roslin after what happened, or she could have accepted after how he treated her.

The intervention of a Frey prevented him to answer:

“During the wedding!”

“Aye!” said another. “They really seemed to have fun together!”

Edmure waited for the snappy retort of the Lannister, reminding him how shameful and blameful was his behavior during the wedding, but it never came.

“And you are sure it’s Tully’s child she’s carrying?” he asked, suspicious.

“Of course! They were making so much noise we could hear them from the other side of the doors! We could barely hear what was going on downstairs!”

They all looked in Edmure’s direction after, who was looked at with a surprise and incredulous stare. Apparently the floppy fish’s story was more known than he’d ever thought it would.

“After all, it makes at least a happy one. I am going to see Brynden Tully and negotiate the castle’s surrender.”

Frankly, if you think it will work just because you send someone more competent, then you are dumber than I thought.

A grumpy Daven Lannister came back indeed some moments later, an evident sign of the negotiations’ failure. Je returned to his activities, leaving Edmure on the scaffold, without giving him even a piece of bread.

Eventually, the sun set and the castellan having surrendered yet, he was untied (he count himself lucky, for he expected to spent the night there). Edmure staggered before founding again how to use his legs. He raised a hand to his neck, where the bloody rope has scrubbed him so much he could feel the trace it had left on his skin. He was soon seized by two Freys, who lead him to a kind of shelter, full of hay with a stake in its center.

“Here is your room, my lord,” said the Lannisters in a tone reeking of irony. “Too bad, you could have slept in you featherbed if your uncle was stupid or soft-hearted enough to give up to that moron of Ryman”.

“Oh, I’ve seen worse, you know. Besides, a little humility has never hurt anybody”, answered the prisoner, making sure he used his most condescending tone.

Given the Lannister’s stare, the blonde had understood the allusion. He made a move with his hand, and then Edmure was tied to the stake by a heavy chain on his ankle. After that he was left alone. Having no other choice, he laid himself on the lay. Although the hay wasn’t very comfortable and was itching him in several places, it was dry and kept the warmth, which was all he could ask for, his tunic having become wet, which made colder the air currents.

 

The next days, Edmure was taken at dawn to the gallows, and left it after sunset. Meanwhile, Ryman kept on showering Riverrun and his inhabitants with threats each one more ridiculous than the others. From where he stood, the Tully could perfectly observe the camp and how it worked. Only in the Frey’s camp, he numbered at least 250 tents where 5 soldiers could sleep without disturbing each other, 5 battering rams, 13 towers and 18 trebuchets.

He also noticed that, although they were supposed to be allies, the Freys didn’t share much with the Lannisters, and especially food, for unknown reasons. The Lannisters faced great difficulties concerning food’s supply, because Brynden made sure the Riverlands would leave no foodstuff that could benefit their enemies. Edmure would have laughed at it, if the tensions between the two armies didn’t result in him starving, because no one really cared about him (at first, he was a distraction for all soldiers, then he became a normal thing in the landscape, just as the river, the trees or the tents, and they weren’t paying attention to him anymore), nor what he would eat or drink. And standing in the cold, under the pouring rain for twelve hours, drenched to the bones, his teeth always chattering with nothing in his stomach was especially difficult, and he would often see black butterflies dancing before his eyes.

Fortunately, Lord Piper was always managing to give him a piece of bread and some water, since he told him that, as far as he knew, Marq was still alive and healthy. He sometimes gave him news about the castle, or the Seven Kingdoms. Clearly, it wasn’t enough; however, Edmure didn’t ask Lord Piper for more. He didn’t want another of his bannermen to be killed because of him.

 _My poor Roslin, your efforts were useless_ , he often thought. He was always worrying about her and the child. She was three months pregnant or so, and he wondered if it began to show. Her stomach was still flat when he leaved the Twins, but for how long? And for how long would she be able to play lute? The image of her struggling to reach the instrument over her large, round stomach made him smile. When Edmure was bored on the gallows, when he had enough of watching the camp, he often imagined their child, how he or she would look like (probably like baby Robb, with more or less hair depending on the sex), how he would be, how he would act. He also imagined himself playing with the kid, making him swirl in the air, hearing him laugh, teaching him how to swim.

It was all the more hurtful to think about this when he remembered he would probably die without living any of this, and maybe not even seeing his child at all.

 

 

However, none of what the Freys did or tried was efficient, and the Blackfish still refused to surrender. Edmure began to think he would be indeed hanged in a few days. This, or the Freys (or more likely Daven, who had more than enough of the Blackfish’s refuse) would grant him a sweet torture’s session outdoors, so it would cheer the troops and avoid the mutiny, and maybe make his uncle change his mind.

A soldier came to him to talk about the subject, not long before they tied the rope around his neck. He was bald, with a prominent Adam’s apple. He seemed nervous and fragile, but Edmure didn’t remember his name.

“Tell your uncle to surrender! Else, they are going to destroy my castle!”

_My castle? How dare he?_

“Correct me if I am wrong, but you are no Tully and thus have no right on Riverrun.”

Immediately, the newcomer brandished a parchment under his nose. And it wasn’t a mere parchment. A decree of the Child King, making a certain Emmon Frey (damn, another one!) the new lord of Riverrun (whaaaaat? Has the child lost his mind? There was no way he could give the castle to a Frey married to a Lannister!).

“I am the lord of Riverrun! The King wrote it!” bellowed Emmon Frey, hitting his own chest with his finger, his head shining red, splutters flying everywhere.

“Then why my uncle is ruling the castle?”

Before him, Emmon was fulminating and cursing. By the sevens, he was the one that should be angry. It was his castle after all, by birthright, and not by a mummer’s king’s decree! He would die rather than see it controlled by the Freys and the Lannisters.

“Maybe your King wrote it”, Edmure resumed his voice thick with anger, “but to the Riverlands, you will never be their Lord. Oh, and your parchment is no use to you, here and now. I even doubt it will serve you one day. You’d better wipe your ass with it. And if you want the castle to not be destroyed, maybe you should let e have a word with my uncle?”

Pissed off, Emmon left and became since this day one of the most prompt to demand a real hanging of the rightful lord of Riverrun.

 

 

The following night, he was lying on the straw, ready to fall asleep, trying to ignore his hunger. Alas, he heard footsteps coming in his direction.

“Ser Tully?”

It was a woman’s voice. There weren’t many women in the cap, and they were all camp followers (most of them had tried to seduce him as he was on the gallows, but he always declined). Had they decided to send him one, so he would talk to her and tell her more about the castle?

He turned around, and saw a fat lady wearing a grey and blue coat, but a red and gold dress. His eyes widened in shock. What was Lady Genna Frey doing there? Had she followed her husband? And why did she come to see him?

“Lady Frey,” he greeted her politely.

“I brought you some food,” she said, handing him a basket containing bread and cheese. “And some wine too. I was sorry to learn that you weren’t being fed regularly.”

Edmure prevented himself from eating, although his stomach was rumbling. The woman was more intelligent than her husband, and she was probably the one that was indeed leading the soldiers. Since Emmon failed, she was probably there to find a way to get the castle.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Riverrun’s a beautiful castle. It’s not half as wide as Casterly Rock, but it is still beautiful nonetheless. I believe the view from the towers is impressive.”

Ah. She was indeed way slier than her husband. She was trying to use his sentiments and his memories related to the place.

“It is. But I think the view from Casterly Rock on the sea and Lannisport is beautiful too.”

Genna just smiled, and stayed silent for a moment, thinking about what she could say next, whereas Edmure was preparing himself.

“I was told your wife is expecting your child. Congratulations.”

He didn’t answer, waiting for what would come. Meanwhile, it has started to rain, and the drops were slowly falling on their face.

“He or she probably will look like your sister’s children. He or she will grow up listening, and when he will get there, he will see all his family has left for him is a ruined castle, and his lord of a father spent the last years of his life living like a beggar. You surely don’t want your child to feel such deception, do you?”

“What do you want exactly, Lady Frey?”

“The question is rather what _you_ want. It’s your castle, you’re their liege lord. You are the Blackfish’s lord. If you want something, all you have to do is ask for it, and he shall do it.”

“I am afraid it’s not that simple, my lady. The Blackfish has sworn to serve the Starks, and if I’m not mistaken, the Queen is still in the castle.”

“It’s true.”

“Then he will take orders from her. Not from me.”

Genna smiled again and she readied herself to go.

“But you know, a word from you, a word about the castle breaches or the Blackfish’s and you could sleep in a tent and eat three hot meals a day. You could even stay in the castle when we will have taken it, and your wife and your child will rejoin you there. Just a word and you will have it all.”

He gaped. He didn’t expect her to say such things and be so manipulative, but she was a Lannister after all. Tywin’s sister and Cersei’s aunt.

“You don’t have to answer now. But if I were you, I would say it soon.”

She was almost gone when he called for her.

“I made up my mind!”

She turned around and went back, a victorious smile.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“So? What do you have to say?”

“I will never tell you a thing about Riverrun or my uncle. Never.”

He savored the shocked expression on Genna’s face. He didn’t have many occasions to make fun of his jailers, and this one was just too fun.

“Like you want” she eventually said, sounding disgusted. “The offer is still up anyway. I am pretty sure you’ll change your mind in some weeks.”

On those words, she was definitely gone, leaving him the basket containing food. Edmure, wary of the food, which could be poisoned, threw away the bread but ate the cheese. It was one of the foods impossible to poison, because the change on the cheese was too noticeable. This night, the rain didn’t stop, and he felt a little cold in the morning, but at least he didn’t feel hungry.

 

 

One day, several weeks after his arrival, the camp suddenly became excited, and it lasted during four weeks. All the soldiers seemed happier, which meant they would soon go, which meant someone or something important would come to help them take the castle. Consequently, Edmure grew warier, because this person or this thing could be the cause of his death and paid more attention to the soldiers’ conversation, so as to know who or what would come.

The so waited person eventually arrived on a morning the rain had stopped, and the sun was even peeking from the clouds. And it was, with the Child-King and the weasel, one of the people he imagined the less to be there. Ser Jaime Lannister, the one that was responsible of Bran’s broken legs and of his own wedding, accompanied by loads of squires.

As soon as he was arrived, he went to talk with his uncle. Edmure prevented himself from laughing. When will they understand negotiating is useless, regardless who they send, regardless if it’s the Kingslayer?

Unfortunately, they talked before another door of the castle, the one on the opposite river, and Edmure couldn’t see or hear a thing. When he saw the Queen Regent’s brother coming back, even though Ryman didn’t allow him to, he knew the negotiations were once more a failure.

However, he liked less the fact the Kingslayer walked towards the gallows, let alone Ilyn Payne, who was following the blonde man. The two men went up the stairs to the scaffold and when they stood before him, Edmure raised his head and licked his dry lips.

**« Kingslayer », he greeted him.**

He knew very well what he looked like (to a beggar, with his cracked lips and legs covered in mud!) and he decided to not seem defeated in front of that bastard. He had to maintain some dignity, even at the moment of his death. Because it was the only reason that explained Ilyn Payne’s presence. To cut down his throat instead of breaking it with a noose.

**"Better a sword than a rope. Do it, Payne.”**

**"Ser Ilyn," said the Lannister. "You heard Lord Tully. Do it."**

_Too bad it ends there_ , he thought. _There were five Tullys and five Starks at the beginning of last year, and there will only remain one Tully in a few moments. They’ll begin to destroy the castle as soon as my head will be gone from my shoulders. And uncle will eventually lose, but I’d bet that they will do a song for the brave Blackfish, the strategist, the young hero of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, the one that held Riverrun against the Lannisters and the Freys during months, and maybe a whole year. What will people remember of me? Nothing, but the Red Wedding and the floppy fish._

Edmure closed his eyes when Ilyn was his sword, so as to better slice (at least it would be quick and wouldn’t hurt much). He barely heard Edwyn’s panicked screams and the answer of the Kingslayer. His last thoughts were for the Freys and the Lannisters (that he cursed with all his being), then his uncle, his wife and his unborn, and he briefly prayed for them.

Actually, it wasn’t his last thoughts.

Before he could understand what happen, he fell face down on the wooden floor. Ilyn Payne’s sword never hit his throat or body. He just cut the rope. _Wait, does that means I am still alive? But what will happen if they don’t want to hang me anymore, nor behead me? Ah, I have forgotten they needed a block for the beheading…_

He was so shocked and so stunned by what just happened that he slowly raised his eyes from the floor at the moment the Kingslayer, who decided to use advisedly his strength, threw a punch at Ryman, sending him in his whore’s arms (not to mention, Edmure noticed with clenched teeth, she was wearing the crown of his nephew!).

**"You have a fat head, Ser Ryman, and a thick neck as well. Ser Ilyn, how many strokes would it take you to cut through that neck? In my opinion, it would take three."**

Immediately, Ryman, who became as white as a sheet, sank to his knees and defended himself like he could:

**"I have done nothing . . ."**

**". . . But drink and whore. I know."**

So Daven, when he sent the letter to King’s Landing to ask for help, also complained about the Frey commander, not daring to complain directly to the lord of the Crossing himself, and his cousin had endured all the way under the rain and in the mud to solve the problem and the Riverrun’s matter once for all.

**"I am heir to the Crossing. You can't . . ."**

**"I warned you about talking. You are dismissed, ser."**

**"Dismissed?"** repeated Ryman, dazzled.

The Kingslayer was quite efficient. He just arrived, and he already showed to the soldiers the meaning of discipline and leading a siege by getting rid of a soldier and commander completely cumbersome and useless. And the prisoner could only agree with the decision. _However, they took their time… The ten weeks they spent with him were just a waste of time and gold._

**"You heard me. Go away."**

**"But . . . where should I go?"**

**"To hell or home, as you prefer. See that you are not in camp when the sun comes up. You may take your queen of whores, but not that crown of hers."**

The Kingslayer turned from Ser Ryman to his son.

**"Edwyn, I am giving you your father's command. Try not to be as stupid as your sire."**

**"That ought not pose much difficulty, my lord."** Answered Edwyn, proud and amused at once.

**"Ser Lyle, bring the prisoner."**

The big, strong soldier, probably a Crakehall, took the feet of rope that was still tied to the noose and pulled him to his feet in one pull. Although it was very brief, Edmure felt like he was being strangled, and, as he struggled to catch his breath, ser Lyle said, chortling:

**"A fish on a leash. There's a sight I never saw before."**

From there, he didn’t let go of the rope, using to guide Edmure as if he was a mere dog. Not wanting to worsen the pain around his neck, he didn’t move and kindly obliged, while in his head he was shouting all the insults he knew towards the Westerman.

The Freys soldiers and the camp followers (who looked confused) who have gathered down the gallows so as to see what would happen moved away to let them pass. The Kingslayer made a sign to man, who followed them, and they walked towards the Lannister’s tent. Nobody spoke, unless that moron of Strongboar who was laughing alone. Meanwhile, questions were crowding in Edmure’s head. He eventually asked directly Cersei’s brother, while they were walking away from the Tumblestone’s bank.

**"Why?"**

**"Consider it a wedding gift,”** answered his interlocutor after a short time of thinking.

 _A wedding gift, my ass! It’s just the only way for you to keep your place at the Kingsguard before they sent you back to Casterly Rock. The only way to stay at your whore of a sister’s sides, so you can put another of your bastards on the throne._ Edmure closed his eyes, bit his tongue and waited until he was calm to repeat:

**"A . . . wedding gift?"**

**"I am told your wife is pretty. She'd have to be, for you to bed her while your sister and your king were being murdered."**

He boiled interiorly. He expected to hear the reproach sooner or later, and it really, really sounded like an insult when Jaime Lannister pointed it out.

 **"I never knew."** Edmure licked his cracked lips. **"There were fiddlers outside the bedchamber . . ."**

**"And Lady Roslin was distracting you."**

_And the septries are making fun of the begging brothers_. Nobody could speak of his wife like that, let alone if this person was a Lannister.

 **"She . . . they made her do it, Lord Walder and the rest,”** he said, trying to keep his anger in check.

_Because your father paid them handsomely to do that._

**“Roslin never wanted . . . she wept, but I thought it was . . ."**

**"The sight of your rampant manhood? Aye, that would make any woman weep, I'm sure."**

_Stay calm. Don’t care about the insult, you heard worse. Just be the frightened prisoner who doesn’t know what will happen to him._

**"She is carrying my child.”**

_I could have said as well “She is carrying my death”_ , he realized, repressing a bitter snicker. Given the look the Kingsguard gave him, he knew he thought the same.

When they arrived before his tent, the Kingslayer dismissed Payne and Crakehall, but not the man he had called earlier.

 **"Lew, heat some bathwater for my guest**. (Edmure prevented himself from snickering) **Pia, find him some clean clothing. Nothing with lions on it, if you please. Peck, wine for Lord Tully. Are you hungry, my lord?"**

Now he was calling him a lord. _Ha. Very funny_. Of what he was the lord now? Wasn’t the Lannister’s uncle Emmon Frey, who was supposed to be the lord of what was Edmure’s by birthright? The knight probably called him so because he wanted to make fun of him. Or maybe he thought he would cooperate more easily if he was called “my lord”. _If he thinks this will works, then he is even dumber than I thought_.

Edmure wondered if the wine and the food they would give him were poisoned. He eventually decided that if they really wanted to kill him, they would have done it sooner, without bothering with all this staging. So he nodded slowly, aware that it made him look suspicious.

Lew, who was none other than Marq Piper’s younger brother came back with hot water, and poured it in a basin. He was told to undress then he entered in the basin. The water was hot, and it was so pleasant he could almost not prevent himself from sighing. Edmure almost forgot how good a hot bath felt, although the water became black in a blink of the eye. Worse than the last time he had a bath.

He hoped the Kingslayer would give him some privacy and leave him alone, but he didn’t. He was probably afraid he would try to escape once more or to end his days, so he was sitting on a chair and staring at him.

 **"Once you've eaten, my men will escort you to Riverrun. What happens after that is up to you,"** he eventually said.

_I knew they brought me there just to negotiate with my uncle._

**"What do you mean?"**

**"Your uncle is an old man. Valiant, yes, but the best part of his life is done. He has no bride to grieve for him, no children to defend. A good death is all the Blackfish can hope for . . . but you have years remaining, Edmure. And you are the rightful lord of House Tully, not him. Your uncle serves at your pleasure. The fate of Riverrun is in your hands."**

**"The fate of Riverrun . . ."**

It seemed as if it was something completely abstract and yet so real, so important. It wasn’t only the fate of the castle. It was also the fate of the whole Riverlands, of the lords, knights and smallfolk. It was also his own fate, Brynden’s, his wife’s and his child’s. It was the fate of a place he had known for nearly thirty years, the only thing that remained from before the war, one of the last strings that tied him to his Tully identity and it could quickly disappear.

**"Yield the castle and no one dies. Your small folk may go in peace or stay to serve Lord Emmon. Ser Brynden will be allowed to take the black, along with as many of the garrison as choose to join him. You as well, if the Wall appeals to you. Or you may go to Casterly Rock as my captive and enjoy all the comforts and courtesy that befits a hostage of your rank. I'll send your wife to join you, if you like. If her child is a boy, he will serve House Lannister as a page and a squire, and when he earns his knighthood we'll bestow some lands upon him. Should Roslin give you a daughter, I'll see her well dowered when she's old enough to wed. You yourself may even be granted parole, once the war is done. All you need do is yielding the castle."**

His proposition was attractive indeed, but Edmure doubted that they would let the Blackfish leave and join the Night’s Watch. For all he knew, Ned’s bastard Jon Snow was still there, and, according to some rumors, he had even become the Lord Commander. Surely the Lannisters didn’t need them to ally and plot a rebellion against them. If Edmure died, and if their child would be a daughter, the Riverlanders would rejoin the Blackfish rather than Emmon Frey.

He closed his eyes and remembered his words. _Family, duty, honor_. The Kingslayer suggested something that was against each word, except maybe duty, since no harm would come to the small folk. However, he couldn’t give away one of the last living members of his family to the enemy. Moreover, if he accepted to go to Casterly Rock, he would lost whatever honor he had left forever, ( not to mention that if he had a son, he would never be able to look at him straight in the eyes) and would never be fully able to decide his child’s fate.

 **"And if I will not yield?"** he asked, watching the water as it ran between his fingers.

The blonde had a forced smile:

**"You've seen our numbers, Edmure. You've seen the ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my coz will bridge your moat and break your gate. Hundreds will die, most of them your own. Your former bannermen will make up the first wave of attackers, so you'll start your day by killing the fathers and brothers of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys; I have no lack of those. My Westermen will follow when your archers are short of arrows and your knights so weary they can hardly lift their blades. When the castle falls, all those inside will be put to the sword. Your herds will be butchered, your Godswood will be felled, your keeps and towers will burn. I'll pull your walls down, and pert the Tumble stone over the ruins. By the time I'm done no man will ever know that a castle once stood here."**

Edmure didn’t know if he bluffed or if he intended to realize his threats. It seemed almost too big to be realizable.

**"Your wife may whelp before that. You'll want your child, I expect. I'll send him to you when he's born. With a trebuchet."**

His blood instantly froze in his veins, and he turned around, looking in the Lannister’s eyes. Seemingly, this was a serious threat. Edmure remembered what Ned told Cat, after the Rebellion, about the crushed little corpses of Rhaenys and Aegon. He was still a boy back then, being no older than twelve, but the way Ned described made his hair raise on his neck. There was no way his child would know the same end. He wouldn’t let someone die because of his pride. _Easy to attack the weakest when you’re a knight. What a glorious deed. People will soon be calling you Kidslayer._

 **"I could climb out of this tub and kill you where you stand, Kingslayer”,** he growled through gritted teeth.

**"You could try."**

Edmure made no move to rise, but he was still looking straight in the Lannister’s eyes.

**"I'll leave you to enjoy your food. Singer, play for our guest whilst he eats. You know the song, I trust. If he actually wants to kill someone and try to murder you, just knock him out with your harp."**

**"The one about the rain? Aye, my lord. I know it."**

_Seven hells, no_ , he thought, closing his eyes _. I have got to be dreaming. Yes, this is just a bad dream and when I’ll wake up, I’ll found myself in the hay._ He would never forget his voice, the voice of the one that created this “floppy fish” song. _My spirit must be tricking me. Or they drugged my food_. Alas, as he searched in the people present, he found an unpleasant familiar face, unpleasant thin brown hair, a hideous big mouth and a big, pointy, unforgettable nose. _Fucking Tom O’Sevens. How can it be that this thrice-damned Lannister always manages to make something even more unpleasant and humiliating than it already was?_

**"No. Not him. Get him away from me."**

The Kingslayer seemingly didn’t know the man (or else, he was a very good mummer), because he retorted:

**"Why? It's just a song. He cannot have that bad a voice."**

Daven’s cousin left the tent on those words, bringing with him his procession of squires. Edmure let his head fall back to the edge of the basin and ran his hands on his face, fulminating because of the Lannister. _You want the castle? Fine. You’ll have the castle, and it will end there!_

« Listen, my lord, I’m so sorry ‘bout the song I made about you. I couldn’t know that you would actually manage to perform a day. Do you want me to rectify the verses of the song? Or maybe I should add a new couplet?”

 _Oh great_ , Edmure thought as he closed his eyes again and the bridge of his nose. _Now, he is starting in too_.

“No, I just want you to shut the hells up and you let me enjoy my bath.”

The singer obeyed (which was pleasant, to have finally some silence) but he soon began to play, which was way less pleasant, even though he didn’t play so bad. This reminded him of his bath at the Twins, when Roslin played for him and scrubbed his back. He realized it has been a while since he took a bath alone.

He eventually got out the water, and began to dry himself. Aware that Tom’s stare linger over him, he retorted:

“What now?”

“Think I need to add some modifications to my song,” the singer said, peeking at his groin.

Edmure rolled his eyes and dressed quickly (this Pia managed to found some clothes with Tully colors he brought with him but were confiscated at his arrival). Then he took a morsel of fresh bread and cheese.

« Y’know, I think there is a misunderstanding.”

“What kind of misunderstanding?” growled Edmure, swallowing a bite of roasted meat.

It was the first time in weeks he could eat some meat. It was far from being as delicious and tender as the meat he ate at Riverrun, but he was hungry, and hunger was the best condiment. Still playing, Tom walked towards him and said in a low voice:

“Don’t mistake me. I ain’t working for the Lannisters or the Freys. I can’t bear them.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Searching some food and stone walls to pass winter. And I also observe them. You should do the same.”

“I’ve doing this for days, standing from the gallows, lying on straw.”

“I bet you learnt a lot of them. The Freys and Lannister don’t seem to get along well, do they? How long do you expect their alliance to last?”

“As long as this bitch of Lannister has one of her bastards on the throne”, Edmure replied sourly, drinking some water.

“Do you think they are dangerous?”

“No. I mean, of course they are, but not half as dangerous as Robb’s army.”

“I really think you can do something for the Riverlands and satisfying the Lannisters.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Edmure stared at him, wide eyed. The singer was slowly pushing him towards what could be called betrayal. _And what if it was a trap? What if he was sent by the Freys and the Lannister to spy on me?_

“You heard me well, I think.”

“How I am supposed to do?”

“I can’t say. It’s your castle. You’ve been living there for thirty years at least, and know it better than anyone. Those are your lands; you know how the small folk think.”

“I know, you think I’m working for the Lannisters, but I swear by the Old Gods and the New that I am not working for any family or noble houses.”

“Then who are you working for?”

“For justice.”

“Justice,” Edmure snickered, looking away.

He expected the man to know better than that. Justice, if it existed before, no longer existed in the Seven Kingdoms, from the day Ned Stark had been beheaded. To him, what Tom said made no sense. _Unless he is one of those sparrows. He could be working for the Militant Faith. The Freys violated the guest’s right and thus the Seven’s law, and the Kingslayer had too, so Tom’s admonishing them the Gods’ sentence_. But Edmure didn’t put much hope in it, and his theory was invalid when he reminded himself that the ancient knights of the Militant Faith wore grey robes armor and wielded a sword whose pommel was showing a seven-pointed star.

“Why do you tell me that?”

“Cause I know you won’t repeat it. You know very well that you would gain nothing if you told them I betrayed them.”

Nearly half an hour later, some Lannister men arrived to bring him to the Blackfish for negotiation. The musician, that didn’t play the rains of Castamere, even though the Kingslayer ordered him to, went to play for someone else, leaving him alone. Although he didn’t like the man, his words couldn’t quit Edmure’s mind, and he was forced to admit that he wasn’t wrong. _There is still something I can do_ , he realized eventually, indulging himself a smile.

He would surrender Riverrun to the Lannisters, but not without executing his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time (probably in June), we will have a surprise PoV!  
> Meanwhile, you can leave a comment in the box below ;)


	14. XIV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> It's been a long time since I updated this fic(more than month, I think). Sorry, but my exams got in the way (thankfully, I have finished with them!), as well as the ElfEver Week 2015 (which I haven't quite finished). I thought everyone would have forgotten this fic, so I was surprised and happy to see that some left kudos. Thank you for your support =)  
> So this is the second guest POV: Black Walder. I know you didn't expect him, but still.  
> Warning : mentions of abuse towards woman and minor violence against a child.

**XIV BLACK WALDER**

“Ser Walder! A raven from the Twins, for you!” announced maester Rowle.

Black Walder didn’t even bother getting up from his comfortable chair. The maester gave him the letter and stayed, in case the knight needed him. Ryman’s son couldn’t be any prouder of himself. The whole house Mallister, lord Jason and ser Patrek included, was now eating in his hand, and, since he arrived there some weeks ago, he didn’t have to lift even his little finger to get something. He still was admiring the strength of the impact of a few words. All he had to do was to threaten ser Patrek to be hanged, and then Lord Jason forgot about things like honor, loyalty and duty (to sum it up, he stopped thinking about crap).

Being in an incredibly good mood today, whistling a drinking song, he unrolled the parchment and read:

_“Dear great-grandson,_

_It is with regret that I inform you about the deaths of your younger brother Petyr and your granduncle Merrett, hanged by outlaws, in the Godswood of Oldstones. It looks like the Riverlands' loyalty towards its new leaders isn’t total._

_Walder Frey, lord of the Crossing”_

 

“I want my horse saddled now, Rowle,” Black Walder ordered, as soon as he finished reading the letter, crushing the piece of parchment in his hand.

The maester ran towards the stables, leaving Walder to his thoughts. Honestly, the death of his idiot of a brother wasn’t a great loss, and it always made an heir less for the Twins (though he wished Edwyn would be dead, since he was his older brother, thus the first heir after Ryman). He was however very surprised of the bravado (or the stupidity) of the outlaws, who didn’t hesitate killing people from the house who was now, theoretically in control of the region and who were backed up by the royal house.

Anyway, they needed to find the culprits, and quickly. It was out of question that the whole smallfolk of the Riverlands and the lords and the knights took those outlaws as models and rejected all domination who wasn’t a Tully’s. Which was with no doubt the message his great-grandfather wanted to send him. The real objective of the letter was to tell him he needed him to show the inhabitants of the Riverlands who was their only leader. Only he was able to do that, since he was one of the few Freys who was able to inspire respect and fear.

And, before leaving Seaguard, he needed to be absolutely certain that the Mallister were way too frightened to not try something foolish against the Freys. Therefore, Black Walder exited his quarters and went to find Lord Jason. The older man was studying a book of account. Patrek wasn’t there. He was probably gone for a ride.

As Jason saw him in his solar, he sighed, rubbed his eyes and asked, closing the book:

“What do you need, ser?”

“Nothing, Jason (yes, he called him Jason. Yes, he didn’t give a shit about the code. After all, they were his prisoners and it was in their interest to behave well if they didn’t want to end up like their so-called king and his mother). Ah, no, actually, I do need something.

He saw the lord becoming as pale as a white walker, and he grinned widely, enjoying the feeling of power.

“Nah, don’t worry. It’s not about your daughter.”

The child wasn’t ugly, but she was only ten and had no curves at all. He deemed better to wait a little more before calling her to her bed.

“I just need the indefectible loyalty of house Mallister.”

“But my house is entirely loyal to house Frey and the royal house!” he protested.

_‘Tis very different from what you said some weeks ago, you hypocritical old man. But you really changed when you saw what we were able to do. Especially what **I** was able to do._

“Well, I have some doubts. My brother was found dead at Oldstones. Someone hanged him.”

“I am sorry for your loss, ser.”

“But we didn’t find the ones who did that, my lord. And nothing guarantees me that your dear son wasn’t the one who orchestrated the whole thing.”

“No!” he shouted, horrified. “Patrek would never do such a thing!”

“How do you explain his long escapades then?”

Honestly, he knew Patrek hadn’t hanged his brother (even though he wasn’t especially smart, he wasn’t dumb to the point of risking his life because of a gesture like this), but it was so sweet to revel in the others’ distress!

“You’ll understand that I have no choice but to leave Seaguard. To avenge my brother’s death. If I were you, I wouldn’t even think of rebellion. I’d feel bad if I were to lose such beautiful children just because of a mistake.”

“No, please! I beg of you, don’t harm Patrek!”

“It was exactly what I intended to do, unless he gives me a reason to harm him.”

As he was about to go out, he turned to face the lord of the castle and added:

“Ah, I forgot. I really, really, don’t want to stress you, but, if I died during my trip, you can be assured that ser Jaime Lannister, who is currently on his way to siege Riverrun, will personally pay you a little visit. Bye!”

Leaving behind him a much shaken Jason, he went in the yard, where his horse was waiting for him. He was leaving alone, so he would be quicker than burdened by Frey soldiers. He quickly brief his second-in-arms, just before his departure. Lord Mallister was someone was someone rational and wary enough to not obey. Besides, he doubted that the Kingslayer would go to Seaguard for such stuff, but a little lie couldn’t hurt them, could it?

On his way, he met Patrek. He grinned widely to the young man, who mumbled him a “Good morning”, but was looking at him with wary eyes, wondering what he was up to. Too bad he could never know.

Black Walder thought once more of the letter, which was folded in his pocket. Usually, he would enjoy travelling on his own; however, he needed now to be more careful than ever, because the ones who hanged Merrett and Petyr could very well attack him. Nonetheless, the outlaws had only attacked worthless men: they were only secondary heir to the Crossing, and had no weigh in the Riverlands or in the seven kingdoms, let alone the Free Cities. Besides, they held no value to old Walder.

Actually, few of his descendants could claim having value for their ancestor. The old man had so many heirs that they needed to have extraordinary qualities to gain some of his esteem. The Freys were generally so stupid that they spent their time battling to know who was the worthier of the Crossing (whereas there was only a slim chance for them to be the lord or the lady of it) or named their children like the weasel (himself included), and thus stayed at . Black Walder deemed there were only four descendants more or less worthy to Old Walder: himself, his granduncle Emmon, his grandaunt Roslin and maybe his aunt Fat Walda. They held this place because of their capacities in “negotiation”, control and discipline (more efficient than the ones displayed at Riverrun, according to what he heard), or their marriages. Emmon married a Lannister, which enabled them to know what was really going on by the Lannisters, Fat Walda married lord Bolton, the current Warden of the North and Roslin was married to the Lord of Riverrun (who had been stripped of his title since).

Therefore, old Walder could more or less control what was going on in three Kingdoms, out of seven. If the old man wanted to, he could have taken the Western lands, but he didn’t. Mayhap he was waiting for the good opportunity to strike, like waiting for the fall of Riverrun.

But in those four, he felt like old Walder preferred him and Roslin. Both of them were quite smart, compared to the other Freys. If they got together, they could rule over the Riverlands quite efficiently, better than the old weasel had ever done. However, it wasn’t likely to happen, since most of his family, Roslin (also known for not being able to hold grudges against someone for long) included, hated him, mostly because they feared him. They hated him because of his ambition. They only thought about inheriting the Crossing, and therefore tried to do everything that could make them look worthier to Walder’s eyes. Too bad they weren’t smart enough to know what to do.

 

Since he was able to not sleep much (which was quite convenient in this kind of situation), it took him less than two days to get to the Twins. At the end of the second day, he was in the castle and talking with old Walder in his loggia.

“We received interesting news from Riverrun, eh. Luckily for us, Lannister arrived. He finally found a way to get something from Tully. Riverrun surrendered but not the Blackfish. The Kingslayer even sent your father away, and he had been found hanged not far from the camp. Looks like the culprits are the same who killed your granduncle and your little brother, eh.

Black Walder wasn’t even saddened. His father was anyway a complete moron, on top of being a drunkard. He lost all esteem for his genitor the day Ryman began to fear his second son. As a matter of fact, Petyr’s brother was even glad. Now he was by law the second heir of the Crossing, which meant that, if the old man died, the castle was his, should his older brother perish in tragic and mysterious circumstances.

“Could it be the Blackfish?” he said, not repressing his grin.

“No. No Tully would bother hanging someone as heavy as your father, eh,” chuckled his interlocutor, apparently satisfied of his little joke. “If it was the Blackfish, he’d have beheaded him and stitched up the corpse differently for revenge.”

“And who’s leading our forces now?”

“Your elder brother. He isn’t nearly as competent as you, but he has the merit of doing better than your father, eh.”

Anyone with an ounce of good sense could do better than my father, he thought, but didn’t say out loud. He knew old Walder was aware of that fact, and they both hated pointing out facts that the two of them already knew.

“Looks like Tully had been more useful than what I would have thought. We’re lucky Roslin took care of him correctly, eh,” commented his great grandfather.

Black Walder’s eyes widened. There was something he didn’t know, for he doubted that the sole fall of Riverrun could gladden the old man. Seeing he didn’t understand, the old man sighed and said.

“Ah, tis true we haven’t told you yet. In a few moons, if everything goes fine, Roslin should give birth to the heir to Riverrun. I do hope it’s not your child, else he has to look like his mother.”

“I have never bed Roslin, great grandfather. I would have gladly helped Tully, but he seems to have figured out on his own how it worked.”

Old Walder cackled and he laughed with him. Roslin wasn’t ugly at all. She was even one of the few Frey girls that could be described as “pretty”. Nonetheless, he never really thought to bed her because she was too stuck up and, like for the Mallister girl, she lacked curves where it was needed, which was a decisive criterion. However, Fair Walda and Alyx didn’t lack those curves.

“When do you intend to investigate, eh?”

“I intended to begin tomorrow. The sooner we find out those outlaws and kill them, the better. If we don’t act quickly, we will be the next ones, hanging from the branch of a tree.”

“Hm…Won’t be easy to gather everybody for tomorrow morning, but we definitely could at midday.”

“Everybody?”

“Some soldiers and some hounds.”

Great. Not only they would leave later, but, on top of that, he needed to make a speech to be assured about their entire collaboration and their blind and indefectible obedience.

“Thought it was better to use the horrible mutts that fill our kennels and whose barks really annoy me, eh. Where will you begin your research?”

“At Hag’s Mire. It’s the place where they started, after all. Maybe the slobs who live there had seen something.”

“Maybe, eh. I hope your competences in negotiation at this level won’t be like your father’s at Riverrun, and you will display the same capacities as in Seaguard! Ah, if all my descendants could be like you, eh!”

 _No! And what else? Even though they’re dumb and aware of their slim chances of inheriting the castle, they want to become the lord of it! If they were like me, then we would have used the Red Wedding as an excuse to kill each other! Which is pretty much what I have done when I stabbed Benfrey._ His expression was so priceless when he saw my dagger planted in his neck. The best part is that nobody saw it, except Great grandfather, and even he didn’t left a little finger for him. He was a threat and an annoyance for both of us, and I got rid of him. And all those idiots really thought he had been killed by the Northerners!

“There are some people in this house who hate you so much that they’ve told the most bloody stupid thing in the century. You might be the one who killed directly or not Petyr and Merrett.”

It was so absurd that Black Walder couldn’t help but laugh.

“Me, killing Petyr and Merrett! For fuck’s sake! They’re not even before me in the legal order of succession? Why would I kill them? Besides, I was miles away from Oldstones, taking care of house Mallister!”

“Well, that’s bullshit, eh, like most of things that come out of the mouth of my stupid descendants, who seem to not know something better to do!”

“Wait! Do you know who begin this whole nonsense?”

Walder shut up for a moment, his eyes glued to the fire.

“My bets on Edwyn. Though no one said his name, but it’s the most logical conclusion we can make.”

Of course. He should have seen it coming. There was only his paranoid big brother to make such assumptions. Especially now, since he felt that his new position as heir of the Crossing was threatened, for his younger brother’s benefit (which wasn’t wrong. At least his elder didn’t live in illusions for this point, for there was no way Walder would gently stay put, waiting for his turn to rule the castle), he would do anything to get rid of the threat.

Black Walder suddenly felt the urge to find the killer as quick as he could. He needed to find a culprit who could innocent him, else, Edwyn would find a way to have the rest of the house following him, after getting rid of his little brother for betrayal and/or kinslaying. And Walder would just never ever let Edwyn step on his feet.

Wait until I’m done with this hanging stuff, dear brother, and I’ll show you that not only you’re as dumb as Father and Petyr, but also what it takes to disgrace your brother’s name in such a way…

His great grandfather dismissed him, and he went back in his room. As he was pulling out his boots, the door opened on his cousin (Fair) Walda, who was carrying a plate with bread, ham and a bottle of wine.

“I heard you came back…,” she simpered.

He knew very well why she had come here. It was neither for kindness or love (yes, his idiot of a cousin was in love with him. When people said that love made people blind… Unless she felt where was the side of the victors and she wished to have his favors so as to become the next lady of the Crossing) Walda brought him something to eat, but because she wanted to spend the night with him. Else she wouldn’t have put some perfume (probably stolen from Roslin’s stuff), nor she would have worn a night shift so transparent. And he wasn’t going to complain: he just bore a several-week period of abstinence, which was more than he could bear.

In spite of his tiredness, he caught her by the wrist and laid her on the bed, and then he began to strip her of the garment, while Walda, chuckling like the birdbrain she was, was doing the same with his clothes.

 

 

He woke up quite late on the morrow. Usually, he would get up early (he was one of the people who, like his great grandfather, considered time was a precious thing they would never have enough of, and therefore, each moment needed to be used), but he had some sleep hours to catch up. And even more after the torrid night he had spent with Walda (who was still sleeping in his bed. Anyway, she knew very well that no one would reproach her to spend too much time with him, even though it wasn’t what they expected of a noble woman).

Walder got to the kitchens to grab a collation – waiting for midday lunch wasn’t an option. After eating a big slice of bread with cheese, he walked in the castle, in order to think about the ways they would use to know the killer’s identity. With some luck, the peasants would know something, and too afraid to resist a little talk. But if needed, he wouldn’t mind doing a little sequence of torture or whipping. He was curious to know if they could resist as long as Tully’s.

He was so much preoccupied that, turning around a corner of the corridor, he bumped into someone he hadn’t seen. He didn’t apologize (and why would he? The future lord of the Crossing didn’t apologize!); however, the person he came across did:

“My deepest apologizes, ser, I hadn’t seen you.”

He immediately recognized the small voice.

“My dear grandaunt,” he greeted her, with a big grin.

“Ser Walder,” she replied in a wary tone.

By the furrow of her brows, he guessed her wariness, due to the fact that he rarely greeted his family. She made a move to advance, but he also moved to prevent her from trespassing.

“What do you want?” she asked, sighed in exasperation.

“Nothing, just talking with my grandaunt, who I haven’t seen in weeks.”

What I want? Just revel in seeing the fear and the terror on your face. I know you know what happened in Seaguard, and you don’t kick me out just because you are too afraid that I have the power required to end your husband’s day if you annoyed me.

He looked at her for a long moment. She had quite changed during the weeks. Her features became just a little slimmer and her dress (which was getting too tight for her) enabled him to show the slight curve of her stomach. What called the most his attention was her chest. It had certainly gotten bigger since the last time he saw her.

“Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“You must feel alone. It has been weeks since you last saw your husband. Only the gods know what happened to him.”

He had touched a sensible point. For a moment, he thought she was going to cry, but she regained her composure quite quickly.

“I really wonder what you miss the most. If it’s really your dumb husband or if it’s rather fucking with him.”

She gave him an offended look, her eyes widened in shock, because of the words and what they implied.

“Mind your own business!” she said through gritted teeth.

Roslin tried to pass, but once more, he got in her way.

“Aye, I also thought it was the second option. You make do with nothing, Roslin. Why wouldn’t you try with a more experimented man? One whose fish had never been floppy and will never be?”

His interlocutor’s face reddened, but he couldn’t tell if it was because of the shame or because of the rage. Maybe it was both. And that was fun. She opened her mouth to protest, probably to defend herself, but he didn’t even let her a chance to talk:

“Stop acting like an innocent septa. I know you like that. I saw the marks you left in Tully’s back. Don’t you even try to pretend you were struggling to not lay with him – not that I can’t understand that, but people heard you, from the other side of the door, and according to them, neither of you seemed to not enjoy it! Frankly, I would have never thought that you’d be like a wildcat in bed! Anyway, you hide well who you really are, and I bet you’d be even more satisfied with me…”

“I’d like you to speak to me on another tone! I am your grandaunt, Walder! May I remind you that I am still married and I owe fidelity to my husband?”

“Him? Come on, he is miles away from here, and he will never know a thing, especially if you birth a boy.”

He got closer from her, and she stepped back, and this went on until she found herself back to the wall, unable to escape him.

“Besides, the younger must respect their elders, no?”

Yes, he was older than his grandaunt. It was normal that, in house Frey, there were noticeable age gaps between the several descendants of the old man, which resulted sometimes in staggering gaps. For instance, his other grandaunt, Shorei, wasn’t even eight.

She tried to slip away from him, but he caught her wrist and clutched it so tightly she let out a small cry of surprise and stopped struggling. Then Walder cupped her breast and palpated it. It was round, and deliciously firm. Too bad she was refusing, and too bad she was pregnant. He was really missing something. But he always got what he wanted. If she kept on refusing like that, he wouldn’t leave her a choice. Moreover, she hadn’t been very keen to the wedding with Tully, but, in the end, she seemed to be quite satisfied with him.

“Leave me alone!”

“You know, it doesn’t matter if you don’t want now. I bet that if you have a daughter, she could only be magnificent when she’ll grow up, with such parents. Especially when, where the Rosby are quite flat, the Tully girls have something that appeals the eye of men.”

“You won’t touch my child!” she threatened, her teeth still gritted.

She was staring right into his eyes. He could clearly see her determination and, for an instant, fear was really gone, and rage was shining.

“Else what? Your husband is going to kill me? If he is as talented with a sword as he is with a bow, I’d rather pray so he wouldn’t hurt himself in the process!”

“I could kill you with my bare hands if I had to!”

This one was undoubtedly the funniest thing he had heard this year. Roslin, the shy and discreet young woman was talking about killing him, one of the most powerful and most feared men of the region.

“Why not, Roslin, why not… You should start from now, so you could have a slim chance to defeat me in a dozen years. And what if I’m marrying her? You aren’t going to prevent her from living with the man she loves, are you?”

“No! Do not make yourself illusions! No young girl could love you sincerely!”

And yet, that’s what Walda swears to me each time we see each other… Far from giving up, he decided to use what she just said.

“My dear Roslin, you’d better put this in your little scatterbrain. It’s you that shouldn’t live in illusions. Neither you nor your husband will have an absolute control on your child’s life. You will never have the power required to cancel the decisions that will be taken for them, so I’d advise you, from on now, to not make the ones who will have a power of life and death on your little family angry.”

“Hey! Leave her be!”

They both turned around and faced Piper. The first thing that stupefied him was that the knight was free. Like in no handcuffs, no tied limbs, no burden and not a guard to be seen. _Hells, no! It won’t go like that_! Letting the prisoners running around freely in the castle wasn’t an option. Did they want to be the object of the revenge of the Red Wedding’s survivors and victims? And what about their image of merciless leaders, huh?

“Leave my lady alone,” the blonde repeated, getting closer.

That was so chivalrous of him!

“Do not give me orders under my own roof. Be a good boy and return in your cell, before I send you back there against your will.”

“Too bad you don’t know what’s happening under your own roof, then. Your great grandfather was good enough to get us out of our cells and to put us in the tiny room in the attic of the Eastern Tower.

_Fuck, no! That’s not the moment! What were you thinking about, old men? Do you want to be the next swinging from a rope?_

“Too bad your father has another heir. Your little brother could inherit Pinkmaiden’s Castle”, he retorted in a cold tone.

He released Roslin and unsheathed his sword, which he always carried around since he had been to Seaguard. He pointed it to the intruder, so as to threaten him.

“Learn to speak correctly to your new Lords, or I’ll send you to Lady Stark.”

“If you hadn’t lacked respect towards your rightful lady, who is great with child, we would have never had this talk.”

He was even denser than Walder would have believed, and he didn’t seem to understand the message. Who in the seven hells this infamous blonde thought he was? The knight in shining armor and with his white steed, who was helping the damsels in distress? He didn’t know if he had to assume this massive confidence to bravado, loyalty (misplaced. Piper seemed to still believe in the Children of the Forest. Couldn’t he see that it was more benefic for him to be loyal towards the Freys than towards the floppy fish?) or stupidity, like most of his family.

Anyway, Walder knew one thing for sure: he couldn’t let such misbehavior unpunished, for it could become quickly models for the other prisoner, who wouldn’t be afraid anymore and would end up rebelling. And, a morning, all of a sudden, there would be no Frey alive in the castle.

That’s why he lifted up his arm to launch a blow which would be fatal, or at least powerful enough to prevent this stupid blonde to do again something like that.

Unfortunately, his blow never landed on his target. And not by another prisoner. No.

Ser Perwyn had just appeared. The older brother of this dear Roslin, who had been nowhere to be seen, since her wedding. However, he had nothing to do her, at the Twins. Wasn’t he supposed to be at Riverrun?

“Next time, Walder, I’d like you to listen what ser Piper has to say. Father wouldn’t be happy at all if his grandson was to die very prematurely. Especially if you’re responsible for that. And me neither,” he growled.

Edwyn’s brother didn’t protest. He didn’t look very dangerous, but Perwyn was one of the best soldiers of the family and now he looked pissed off enough to cut him in pieces. It was better to not anger him more. He sheathed his sword unwillingly, not without a last “You-and-I-we-won’t-stay-there-you-will-pay-later” look to the blonde knight.

“Come here, Roslin. You too, Piper.”

The three of them left, with ser Perwyn walking behind Piper and Roslin, looking back from time to time to be sure to not be followed by Walder. _Note for when I’ll be the lord of the Crossing: get rid of Perwyn and Olyvar as soon as possible if I want to do what I want to. Them, and all the hostages Father keeps there alive and allows to run around the castle freely. Even though the Boy King asks me to, I won’t obey. Who would verify anyway?_

A few hours later, the troop was riding towards Hag’s mire. Surprisingly, the people he had with him weren’t stupid, and he didn’t need to talk a lot to them to make them totally reliable. They all understood quickly what their mission was and were really keen to the hunt, so much that they submitted a few peasants to a brief but tonic questioning. However, this didn’t have the effect they expected to have: the peasants knew nothing, but that didn’t prevent them to be utterly afraid. Two or three men even pooped in their breeches. If it didn’t give Black Walder an intel, it has the good effect to scare the populations, that (he was sure of it), would think twice before helping or covering the killer (s) of Petyr, Merrett and Ryman, or any other Frey or ally.

His men were way more efficient and fast that he would have thought. They arrived at Hag’s Mire in less time than it would have taken with the men he had at Seaguard, but in more time that it would have taken to him alone. However, they just gained a precious amount of time, because, the more time they took to find the culprits, the more they have the outlaws an occasion to hang them too. An option that didn’t please Black Walder. _Edwyn would be the lord of the Crossing_ , he thought with disgust. _The Freys will have no choice to pray the Gods, for I am not sure he knows better than Father how to manage a castle and a whole region._

They plundered all the villages. Their technique was the same. In every hamlet, they would make all its inhabitants go out of their miserable houses, and lead a very brutal questioning, to be sure to get (quickly) the information they needed. It was quite efficient: even though the peasants ended up admitting, in tears, that they knew nothing, and they were loyal to their rightful lords, the house Frey, they didn’t want to betray and never would, and so they could take everything they wanted in the hamlet, providing that nobody would be killed and they kept their horrible dogs on a leash, out of sight.

Of course, the troop wasn’t burdened by shame or embarrassment, and did like they were at their home, taking the best hoots, taking shamelessly whatever food they wanted in the small reserves that were supposed to spend the whole winter (that everybody predicted to be a long one). They would also lay with a peasant girl if they wanted, the men being way too scared to protest. Black Walder refused to. Not that he was against this type of action, but, quite honestly, there were curvier and more beautiful woman (and who smelled nice) at the Twins.

A fortnight after they left the Twins, they finally found something. Their technique had improved meanwhile and the peasants were keener to cooperation.

“It’s lady Stoneheart who did that, ser,” stuttered a woman peasant, tears rolling down her cheeks.

He froze in place. It was the first time he heard that name. And it wasn’t one of the noble houses in the Riverlands, nor in all Westeros. It was more likely the name of a killer, so low born that she felt the need to call herself Lady to seem more important and powerful.

“And who’s that lady Stoneheart?”

“I dunno, ser. But we know for sure she ain’t a good person. When we came across her, we do anything we can to avoid her. Nobody wants to be hanged. That’s why we close ourselves in our houses when we know they’re around. Apparently, her stare only is enough to make you pee in your breeches. Look, for instance, little Willy, he saw her whole when she was hanging men and he was so frightened he hasn’t said a word.”

“Wait… You said “they”?”

Seemingly, that lady Stoneheart wasn’t doing all of this alone. Too bad, for a moment, he felt a little admirative for a woman who dared to attack Freys alone.

“Who are the “they”? Answer, wench!” he ordered her, grabbing her arm and tightening his grip, so she yelped in pain.

“The Brotherhood without Banners, ser!” she cried.

Old Walder hadn’t been mistaken: he knew for sure that outlaws were responsible of the deaths of his brother and his granduncle. And it wasn’t mere outlaws. Beric Dondarrion was a very capable knight and, if half the things people said about red priests were true, then Thoros of Myr was also a big threat.

He released the wench, annoyed by her sobs, and asked her:

“Where’s little Willy?”

“There, ser” she replied, shaking.

In a few strides, Walder arrived before the brat, who was paler than a peasant’s child should be and whose eyes were lost in the vague. Aware that he would get nothing from those slobs by the sweet way (which showed no satisfying results by the peasants), he opted for violence. He grabbed his hair (where he spotted strands of grey hair, when the child wasn’t older than nine) and yanked his head back, putting his knife against his vulnerable throat. Willy gasped in surprise and his eyes widened. He would soon either cry or shit himself.

“You have twenty seconds to describe me lady Stoneheart”, he growled in his most threatening voice. “Twenty…nineteen…eighteen… seventeen…sixteen…fifteen…”

Since the brat didn’t say a word, paralyzed by fear (he knew brats were easily impressed, but he had the feeling that what he saw was pretty scary, even for grownups), Walder pulled the knife even closer against his throat. All it took to scare the boy even more than this lady Stoneheart was a drop of blood running from his throat down his chest, and he began to yell:

“I’ll say everything! Everything, everything, everything! But release me, please!”

Walder didn’t release him (he wasn’t merciful nor crazy), but he took away his weapon.

“So?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at the child, looking at him straight in the eyes.

The younger one swallowed as much as he could with his head back, and seemed even more frightened.

“She’s gray… Her skin’s gray, the few hair she’s left are grey, her mouth’s gray.”

“Go on.”

“Her throat is opened in two, like someone killed her. She doesn’t speak, but her yells are quite frightening. And she has red-brown marks on her cheeks, like she had fought a beast. There’s plenty of dried blood on her face. She stinks too. When she walks, she smells like a dead man’s body, when it’s rotting.”

“Have you seen her with your very eyes?”

The boy made a move of his head, which looked like a nod, and grimaced in pain.

“When and where?”

“One day, I ran to Oldstones because in the Godswood there’s plenty fruits and rabbits, and rabbits are delicious when stewed. I saw her from far and I was surprised. I thought it was a silent sister and the men with her were novices or something like that. I have never heard nor saw what the silent sisters did so I followed them. Oh, why did I do that? I should have gotten back home the instant I saw her!”

Now the brat was really crying. Black Walder tapped his foot. He wasn’t a patient man, and he had always hated children, who made you lose an important amount of time. Just like little Willy f he kept on weeping.

“What did you saw?”

He sniffed and said between two sobs:

“There were two men. One with his face covered in pimples and the other was robust with shoulders and chest like a bull’s. And the woman hanged ‘em. I was hiding behind a tree, but I saw everything! I saw them move as if the Crannogmen had bewitched them! And the woman saw me too. She looked at me straight in the eyes, ‘twas like she was piercing me with a thousand blades. Everything became cold, my mouth dried and I had cold sweat, I shook and my heart was beating so hard I thought it would explode. But I didn’t want to end like ‘em, so I ran, ran, ran to my house. And now, I am afraid she’ll come one day and hang us all.”

Walder released the brat. He wondered for a moment if the brat hadn’t told him a false story, but he described quite exactly what happened when we hanged someone, but also the appearances of Petyr and Merrett, who weren’t used to wander in hag’s Mire. So he decided to believe him. And honesty, he had learnt interesting facts. Who knew a child could say something so useful?

However, there was one thing that intrigued Ryman’s son. This lady Stoneheart, as the brat described her, seemed strangely similar to the Catelyn they had thrown in the Green Fork. The description was exact for everything except the colors and her hair. Nonetheless, she was dead, and thus couldn’t be brought back to life. The only thing he remembered from the unending sermons of the Twins’ septon was that the dead didn’t come back to life. He had the occasion to verify it several times actually. It was true that people said the red priests could bring dead people back, but Walder couldn’t believe it. It was mostly gossips told by sailors who had been to the Free Cities. And if they began to believe everything that was told about the Free Cities…

“Brat?”

“Yes, ser?”

“You know who the hanged men were?”

“No, ser.”

“They were my brother and my granduncle.”

Willy’s eyes widened in shock and he brought a hand before his mouth.

“I… I am so sorry for you, ser. I swear.”

“I hope you hadn’t lied. For the moment, we both want that this so-called lady dead and six feet under. If I discover you tricked me or trapped me, I can guarantee you that what this lady Stoneheart could do to you will seem way more pleasant than what I’ll do to you. Understood?”

“Aye, ser,” stuttered the brat, before running back to his parents.

 

Accompanied by one of the soldiers who appeared to be both reliable and competent (the rest of the village was afraid enough of the dogs to dare rebellion, Walder rode as quick as he could to the castle of house Nayland. When they arrived, they were welcomed by ser Raymond, who was currently in charge of the house. Fearing their visit was due to a lack of obedience, he didn’t stop swearing the unfaltering loyalty of his house and their deep respect for the Freys, and they’d do anything that could please them.

The guest didn’t hesitate to take advantage from his hospitality to send a letter to his family, borrowing the maester’s raven (who couldn’t say a thing to express his disagreement). Now that he knew who the culprit was, he was determined to not give up and catch her, to execute her at the Twins, and thus have a reason to legitimate him as the heir of the Crossing.

_Come on, dear lady Stoneheart, or whoever you really are. Attack our family. Attack the kennel’s masters. Attack me. I don’t give a fuck. I am waiting for you. And I guarantee you that, already dead or not, you will regret the day Black Walder decided to get you!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it was shorter than last chapter, but I think it's better like that.  
> The upcoming chapter is one of my favorite. It's the longer I have written (I think) for this fic.

**Author's Note:**

> OK, this is kinda short, but it's just the prologue.  
> Don't hesitate to leave a review!


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